The Elvenking's Scribe
by boursin
Summary: An ancient record, unearthed by farmers: The journal of Lady Eren of Rivendell, and her previously unknown story as royal scribe to Thranduil, Elvenking of Mirkwood, as a spy for her father, Lord Elrond of Rivendell, and as a witness to the encroaching sickness of Shelob's offspring and the Necromancer of Dol Guldur.
1. Entry One: Mirkwood

**_A/N: Dear reader – Though I am a lifelong lover of Tolkien's world, I am not an expert. I have also taken some liberties, which I hope you will forgive. I have invented the author of this journal, Eren, and many other things for entertainment's sake. Thank you for reading, and I hope you can find enjoyment in my interpretation of these crazy elves._**

THE ELVENKING'S SCRIBE

 _Correspondence to Mr. B. Surrey_

 _Academiae Hall, Old Minas Tirith, Gondor_

 _Dear Cousin,_

 _Last week as myself and my brother were plowing a new field just south of the Green Woods, we found some records encased in a box buried in the side of a hill. Most were broken beyond comprehension, but this one seems to be mostly intact. It's written in the old elvish language I can't read, so I assumed you'd be able to do something better with it. It looks like it should be in a museum. What do you think? Let me know if it's of use._

 _Warm Regards,_

 _T. Brown_

 _Wiltshire, Green Woods, Rhovanion_

 _-ooOOoo-_

Entry One:

To Whom It May Concern:

My name is Eren and I am the scribe of Thranduil, Elvenking of the Greenwood, or Mirkwood, or even the Dark Wood some might call it, the one or the other or the third, depending on what this wood might do to you. But that isn't a satisfactory introduction; allow me to revise.

My name is Eren, and it is pronounced with a tapped "r", not a hard "r" like the Northron men would have it mangled. The skies know my sister has had it bad enough with mispronunciations. Indeed I have a sister, but let me start again.

My name is Eren, and I am a daughter of Elrond of Rivendell, half-elven, which makes me three-quarters elven if one believes that everything is so cut and dry. It was in Rivendell and by my father that I was trained and learned the manners, skills, and eloquence with which I was to navigate my life. It was also there that my tutors discovered I had a unique ability with scribing, in fact I possess the ability to write dictation far faster than any other elf in Rivendell. Perhaps I am also able to do so more beautifully than any other elf, but one would have to ask after my skills elsewhere, for I desire not to cross over into boasting.

At this, the reader might ask: how did I, someone who hailed from such a beautiful, peaceful land, and not being an elf of low birth, come to be the scribe to the Elvenking who reigned over the most cursed forest in the East? If I hadn't lived it I wouldn't have believed it, but in the following account I will try to describe the course of events which led to my fate.

Misfortune began one morning when my father emerged from a meeting with Celeborn of Lothlorien possessing _new ideas_ of the sort which makes an elf think things which he had previously not considered. I should have known when he came into the room wherein Arwen and I were peacefully breakfasting that something was on the cusp of change; he had that look about him, the one in which one's layers don't seem to all line up, wherein one is caught in between settling on this or that, and in which one's previous notions might have been brought into questionable bas-relief, rife for sanding away.

"Eren," he said, his pronunciation always perfect, which I appreciated.

"Good morning, Father," said Arwen, ever perfect, which I didn't appreciate as much.

"Yes, Father?" I inquired.

He came and sat with us, which was not usual.

"I've just come from a meeting with Celeborn," he said, as if in a spirit of confidence for some reason, though we already knew it.

"Oh, how is Lothlorien?" asked Arwen.

"Have you?" I asked, prodding for more, attempting to bypass Arwen's tiresome query.

"Indeed," replied my father, also bypassing Arwen. "There is a particular… _situation_ … happening in the Greenwood."

"You mean besides the mad Sindarin king of the Sylvan nation?" I asked.

"He's not mad," was my father's immediate, perhaps knee-jerk, response.

"Isn't he?" I asked, consciously failing to hide my doubt.

"Eccentric, perhaps," he went on, ceding a bit. "But I've been assured he's lucid. At the very least, I believe him to be lucid."

I glanced at Arwen, who looked like she very much wanted to avoid discussing the possibility of an elf out of his mind.

"Yes, and what is the 'situation in the Greenwood' of which you speak?" I queried politely.

"He…," began my father, who, in a moment of unlike-himself-ness, seemed rather hesitant to go on. "He seems to be in need of a scribe."

I very badly wanted to laugh, but I didn't, of course.

"And that is a 'situation'?" I asked.

My father tapped the tips of his fingers on the table, as if there was more he was trying to get out. I decided to wait for it. He glanced at me, and then he leaned forward, his elbows on the table, steepled his fingers together and made _that face._ Oh, that face, that face… it always meant awful things.

"Oh… no," I said, lacking eloquence.

"Eren," he said, addressing me more formally, as if that would make it any better. "There is no scribe more skilled than you."

"Yes, but there are plenty of scribes skilled _enough_ ," I objected.

"I want you there to … keep an eye on the king," he said, still utterly calm, and still making that face.

"That forest is full of spiders," I resisted.

"He's an isolationist, Eren, but Lothlorien and Rivendell need to know what happens in the Greenwood. There are troublesome forces which we suspect to be at work, yet we cannot know without his cooperation. As his scribe you will know everything, _everything_ that happens in the kingdom."

"Are you aware of how big those spiders are?" I asked, grasping for excuses.

"And due to your undeniable skill," he went on, ignoring my protests, "he will not deny you, despite who you are."

I will admit to feeling a flash of indignation.

"What issue could he possibly have with who I am?" I asked.

"You're my daughter," he replied.

"Which is exactly why he should feel _honored_ to have me as his scribe."

"What one expects is generally not what one receives from the king of the Greenwood elves," said my father, looking cryptic.

"And you insist he is not mad," I replied, sullen.

"Not any madder than any other elf who has lived for thousands of years within and without the turmoil of wars," said my father, something sad in his eyes.

"So because of my skill, I am to be cursed to dwell in Mirkwood?" I asked.

"Temporarily," said my father. "And is it such a curse?"

He had such a way of turning things around with a few words, my father. Was it such a curse? Absolutely. Yes. Awful. However, he made me see the tiny, miniscule sliver of a silver-lining: it probably wouldn't be boring.

"How long," I parlayed.

"Not long," he said, though we were elves, and whatever did that mean, anyway?

"Four months," I said.

"I can't make any promises," he said.

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because," he said, seeming pained and hesitant to continue. He did go on, but vaguely: "There's something happening at Dol Guldur."

"I dislike that name," said Arwen, displeased with the turn of conversation, and she stood. "Eren, I'll meet you later to walk in the north woods."

My father and I both watched Arwen go.

"Cannot Lothlorien keep well enough eye on Dol Guldur?" I replied.

"There is no one closer to the darkness that seeps through Rhovanion than King Thranduil," said my father.

"And you would send your daughter into that darkness?" I asked.

"I would only send _one_ of my daughters into that darkness," he replied.

I leaned back in my chair.

"The first would wilt at the trial," he said, meaning Arwen, I knew, "but the second I know to be stronger than that."

It was a high compliment my father gave me, and perhaps it was enough to take part of the sting out of the prospect of leaving my comfortable surroundings in Rivendell. There was the added benefit of how very _interesting_ the idea of travelling to this secret place was, since I knew very little of Mirkwood, and to be frank, it was a mystery to most.

"Fine," I agreed. "I will send you letters that are completely banal, and then I will send the letters with the real, useful information addressed to Arwen."

"Yes?" said my father.

"Figure out how to intercept them," I said. "We wouldn't want Arwen confused."

"I can manage," he replied.

"I also want mother's emerald circlet," I said.

"Done," he said.

"Then we are in agreement," I said, rising from my chair. "When do I leave?"

"Tomorrow," he said.

 _Tomorrow!_

"Who is the mad elf, Thranduil or yourself, father?"

"I would be cautious about tossing around the elf-king's name without his honorific, Eren."

It was as if he didn't even notice I'd asked him if he was mad.

"One cannot be so mindful when one has just learned that one is leaving for the dread wastelands in one day," I replied.

"The Greenwood is not a dread wasteland!"

This was true, and I sighed.

"I suppose it isn't," I said, ceding the point. "But this had better be worth it, father."

"Of course it will be," he replied.

"I will trust your assurance," I said.

My father smiled at me, but that smile held many things that didn't assure me at all.

-ooOOoo—

I must admit that as I watched the dark tree line of Mirkwood grow larger and larger I experienced larger and larger amounts of growing dread. I felt as if I was losing something and gaining something at the same time, but I knew not what either could be. And there the forest sat, silent, waiting, static, stoic, dark. I wondered why I should willingly enter whilst I still possessed my sanity, but yet there I was, doing so once the trees loomed above.

I wasn't alone, however. I had my guards and other attendants to help with the whole process, since I _was_ moving residences, after all. At least it was supposed to be only temporary.

Everyone grew silent once we entered the wood because we _had_ to. No one knew what to say. The forest seemed to wait, but for what it was impossible to tell. It seemed sad, it seemed strong, it seemed patient, it seemed maligned, proud, sick, eternal, but we didn't know what secrets it held and it wasn't going to tell us. It was kind of unfair, really.

I felt the sickness most of all, though. It stuck to the forest like a parasite, and it was as if the forest desired to shake it off once and for all, but it didn't know how. Were we supposed to know how? _I_ certainly didn't know how. The feeling struck us all dumb, and that's how we remained as we ventured deep into its sickly shadows. I heard not a single bird or stirring creature along the entire path, and it felt wholly unnatural.

Was this the place I was to live? The claustrophobia of such a fate began to press in on me. Maybe I didn't make the best of decisions on certain days.

Eventually I couldn't take the pressing silence any longer and I broke it, like a shard of glass.

"How far until we reach the kingdom?" I asked my nearest guard. He seemed relieved to hear my voice, as if tightness had been released by the normalcy of small talk.

"It shouldn't be far," he replied, though vague.

The vagueness of his response prompted me to look up at the interlocking branches of the thick trees above us. It was as dark as twilight within the forest, and the narrowing of the path forced us to pare down to single-file. Now and again I was reminded of the legendary Mirkwood spiders by a web-laden branch. I wondered if we would see one, and then I dreaded that we might see one.

"How in the world does the king of Mirkwood manage to get supplies to his kingdom on such a narrow road?" I demanded of the gloom, irritated by the narrowness of the way.

"I cannot begin to surmise," stated my guard.

"It makes no sense," I said, admittedly grumpy and inwardly questioning the sanity of King Thranduil again. My inward sanity questioning was cut short, however, by the aggressive arrival of the largest, most horrible spider I'd ever seen.

The way it arrived was almost as horrible as the arrival itself. It slid down in front of us on the path, a slow, smooth descent, on a strand of its own spidersilk, seeming so calm, so in control, and so sharply, predatorially focused on us that we all were unable to move at first, so great was our disbelief that such a thing could exist, right there, right then.

The moment of calm was over quickly as everything sprung into action at once: the spider pounced towards the guard in front of me, the guard drew his sword, his horse began to rear, my horse tried to turn me around and in the fray I spied another spider prowling in the trees just ten paces away. How many were there? Were we surrounded? In the cacophony of metal, voices, and those horrible noises monstrous spiders make, I'll admit to a moment of feeling impending mortality, and perhaps also sublime regret that I'd agreed to this venture in a fit of bad judgment.

As luck would have it, I didn't die that day. The spider I was watching through the trees was felled by a thick, sturdy arrow right between it's eyes, well, _some_ of its eyes, and I heaved a sigh of relief. At least somebody was competent in this forest.

It was all over as quickly as it had begun. It took perhaps half of a minute for every single spider around us to be rendered incredibly dead. I couldn't find too much fault with my guards, really, they simply weren't equipped to deal with large, ferocious spiders, but I was grateful to whomever it was who had gotten rid of them. It took another minute or so for that whomever to reveal themselves.

A young-ish looking elf woman with long reddish hair and holding a bow stepped into the path, and nudged the dead spider afore us with her boot. Near her arrived another young-ish looking elf, male, with sindar-blond hair, also observing the dead spider and holding a bow.

"I got four," he said to the russet elf woman, a shadow of a smile on his face.

The woman glanced at him and sheathed her bow on her back.

"Five," she said.

He blinked and I watched as dismay, then respect, then determination crossed his features. What was this, a competition? We'd been nearly spidered to death, and these two seemed to be playing a _game._ At that moment I paused and realized, after some addition, that it all added up to _nine spiders._ We had been in more trouble than we'd thought.

The blond elf seemed to acknowledge us at last and, with a salute of respect, asked, "Is everyone unharmed?"

I glanced back to make sure everyone was, in fact, unharmed, and then said, "We appear to be fine. Thank you, for…," but I stopped because I just couldn't help myself changing tack: "Were there really nine spiders?"

The russet elf glanced at the blond elf.

"Unfortunately," said the blond elf. "And I'm sorry we had to be introduced under these circumstances, but my name is Legolas Greenleaf, son of King Thranduil of Mirkwood."

Well then, the royalty in Mirkwood was certainly very _hands on_. Though this was all I could think, I didn't voice my thoughts.

"Prince Legolas," I said in greeting. "I am Lady Eren of Rivendell."

"We were expecting you," he said. "This is Tauriel, the Captain of the King's guard."

Tauriel bowed formally, displaying none of the informal casualness she'd just shown with the prince.

"Please forgive the inconvenience of the spiders, Lady Eren," said Tauriel, and I almost laughed. _Inconvenience_. "Follow us, if you will."

At that, the prince and the captain drew their bows again and began walking down the path. After gingerly guiding our skittish horses around the dead spider in the middle of the path, we followed them.

"So," I ventured. "Are the spiders a … common problem here?"

"All too common," said Legolas grimly.

That wasn't really the answer I'd wished to hear.

"We try to keep them at bay," said Tauriel. "But they tend to come in spurts. Your party happened to come along at an unfortunate time."

"It's luck, then, is it?" I asked. "Whether one will be accosted by spiders?"

"They tend to be drawn to those unaccustomed to their methods," said Legolas. "Such as a party of elves from Rivendell."

"Easy prey," added Tauriel.

I can speak for the entirety of my party when I say we all felt indignant at being labeled 'easy prey', however there might have been something to what the prince said since, with he and the captain as our wardens, not a single spider came near for the rest of the trip. It made me wonder just how much intelligence those spiders possessed, to be able to determine our naiveté on sight.

At last we arrived at the gates to the king's halls, which was a trio of gated, peaked-arch openings in the side of what appeared to be a hill gnarled by massive, twisting trees. So thick was the forest that I couldn't tell how tall the hill might be or whether it was a mountain. All I could tell was that it went up, and trees obscured all definitive evidence of anything more.

King Thranduil lived underground for some inane reason, but I'd already been prepared for this strange piece of the puzzle, at least.

We Rivendell elves dismounted and other elves took our horses to stables I assumed, or maybe to more holes in the ground that they simply called 'stables'. I knew not what to expect with these silvani.

"Do you need to refresh yourselves before meeting the king?" Legolas asked me as another elf held open the gates for us.

I glanced back at my Rivendell elves. They looked so harangued. Must have been the spiders.

"Please," I said. "Allow my party to rest, but I will be fine to meet with King Thranduil now."

"Very well," said Legolas, and he led us on.

The halls were in caves. Caves were a thing I never had spent any time in, nor were they a thing I had ever _wanted_ to spend any time in. Now that I was in some caves, however, I found they weren't terrible. At least, these caves weren't.

The halls were deep and vacuous, extending up to heights often beyond sight, and the thick, twisting roots of the surface trees bent 'round the curves of the caves like the ribs of resting sea monsters, organic, flowing, and there was something vaguely harmonious about it. It wasn't poorly done. Pale, amber light filtered through the natural shapes of growth and the solemn depths of the underground, making everything warm and faintly golden.

In an airy nook were several of those peak-arched doorways which Legolas indicated were for the elves who had come with me. After assuring them all I would be fine, I left with the elf prince to find the king.

"You've come to be the royal scribe, then?" ventured Legolas, clearly small-talking.

"Indeed," I said. "Royal scribe." Repeating the title made it sound even more silly that I was doing this, when it was so clearly beneath my station. Legolas was polite enough not to ask why, but I'm sure he was thinking it.

"I've heard you're quite good," he said.

"I suppose," I said modestly.

"Do you enjoy it?" he asked.

"Very much," I replied.

"I see," he said. "My father may provide you with some interesting work."

"Oh?" I asked politely, though I already knew anything having to do with King Thranduil would be, at the least, 'interesting work'.

"The sorts of things that tend to happen in the Mirkwood are generally not normal," he replied.

"But what is 'normal'?" I mused.

Legolas laughed, and it was a light, airy thing, fresh like a burst of sun through treetops. It made me smile in return.

"I'd say if we had to set a standard for normalcy, that your home would be a good bar-set," he said.

"Oh, Rivendell is the standard for normalcy, is it?" I asked, amused.

"It's so normal in Rivendell," he said.

"I should say it seems that way to me, since it is to what I am accustomed," I said.

"And it seems that way to me, also, even though I am not accustomed to it," he replied.

"Perhaps there is some merit to your judgment," I said. "We've never had a single giant spider in Rivendell, not once."

"I've always thought the level of normalcy in a place is exactly opposite to the number of giant spiders that reside there," said Legolas.

"Ah, numerical analysis, I do like your thought process, Prince Legolas," I said, smiling.

"I shall confide in you that I love numbers," he replied.

I was certain at that point that I would like the prince quite a lot during my stay in Mirkwood.

We arrived at a set of beautifully carved pale wood doors which, immediately upon our arrival, were opened by two armored, silent guards. The cave within was vacuous, so much so that the amber light became distantly diffused with sea-green, and the deep, thick roots of ancient trees wove where they would and a pale wooden path was built around it towards a pale throne that looked as if it had been crafted of a cacophony of trees, bones, and antlers.

"Well," said Legolas' small voice in the large space. "Here we are."

He sounded hesitant, and I wondered why as we walked towards the distant throne. The light was different in here; a stray ray of sun made it through the amber haze and purple shadow and struck the edge of the throne, blooming it white, and there upon the throne, as I drew near, sat the brooding elf-king of Mirkwood. He was, perhaps, the single most haughty-looking elf I had ever laid eyes upon, and I had seen many elves. His hair was blond, I suppose, but in the ray of light it looked white to me, clearly Sindar. His posture spoke volumes about his method of rule. I knew at once from the way he lounged and the way his leg was crossed over the other, he was daring everyone to challenge him. His pale eyes spoke as if he might be waiting for it, waiting for the challenge, for I could see that in the crushing of challengers did the elven king gain pleasure. I surmised his other pleasure would be in the absolute rule of his kingdom, and perhaps in picking out lavish robes in the morning. Indeed, I took him immediately to be a controlling, vain sort. I knew then that I must execute caution in all my dealings with this elf.

Also, I became quite sure he was probably, at least partially, insane.

As we grew close, he rose with grace and control, too much control.

"Legolas," he said, his voice smooth, again with more control than seemed normal, as if he overcompensated for something beneath the surface. "Who have you brought?"

"Lady Eren of Rivendell has arrived, Father," said Legolas. "Your new royal scribe."

I did the normal thing and curtsied for the king, in the normal way, but I did find myself wondering if normal would pass as abnormal in this place.

"Your majesty," I said, normally.

He gazed upon me for a moment, as if working to discern the purpose of my existence.

"A royal scribe," he said, stepping down from his elevated position to regard me even more closely. He was tall, unusually so, and despite knowing he was using his height to his advantage, I still found myself fighting back the feeling of being intimidated. "How unusual that the daughter of Elrond should want to fill such a lowly position of her own free will."

I wondered if he'd already figured me out before I'd even been able to say more than three words.

"What better way to further hone my skill than to serve as scribe to the elven king?" I said, digging into my own excuses.

"Have you no masters to learn from in Rivendell?" he asked, almost amused by my proposed method.

"I do," I said, and he tried to intimidate me with his gaze, but I held it, knowing should I falter he would win, at least a little bit. "But I have nothing left to learn from any of them."

He raised an eyebrow at that, glanced over me, and then suddenly the pressure released; he drew back and the interrogation was over for now. He turned aside at once and I felt dismissed.

"Very well," he said. "Legolas, turn her over to the court master and let her begin her work. We shall see if she is as good as she claims in time."

"Yes, Father," said Legolas, and the prince turned to me, an interesting expression in his eyes. Was it relief?

As the carved wooden doors to the king's hall closed behind us, the prince didn't even try to hide his relief. I had to inquire.

"Prince Legolas, were you worried about something?" I asked.

Legolas cleared his throat delicately.

"Of course not," he said, and he gave me a small smile reminiscent of green leaves illuminated by the glow of sunshine.

 _He was lying._

 _-_ ooOOoo-


	2. Entry Two: Parlay

_To: Mr. T. Brown_

 _Wiltshire, Green Woods, Rhovanion_

 _Dear Cousin:_

 _This is an unbelievable find! Though I've only just begun to interpret the writings in this journal, what I have read so far has been invaluable in providing much greater understanding of the old elfs of the Third Era. Just imagine… the personal journal of an elf lady of Old Rivendell during her time in the service of the Elvenking of the Green Woods. If my scholarly associates and I weren't so excited about this record, we might feel guilty of prying into her personal matters. In a world without a single elf left in it, this is more precious than gold. I've sent a team of archaeologists to survey the hill you found it in, I hope you don't mind._

 _Warmest Regards,_

 _Mr. B. Surrey_

 _Academiae Hall, Old Minas Tirith, Gondor_

-ooOOoo-

Entry Two:

August 14, T.A. 2941

I suppose I'd better start dating these things, since I'm supposed to be a professional and all. I do wonder if anyone will ever read this journal, besides myself of course. What a lonely feeling.

Following my brief time with the Elvenking, the elf prince took me right away to the court master and left me in his care. The court master seemed to run everything behind the scenes in Thranduil's court, from politics to accounting to the kitchens; all the way down to the minute details of the feasts I quickly learned the woodland elves were fond of having. Considering how much of the woodland realm the court master ran, and ran quite well, I was surprised to find him as unassuming an elf as he was. Perhaps it was the case that lack of ego removed much of the distractions that might get in the way of efficiency. I studied this fellow hard, I should say, trying to determine how to best emulate his ability to juggle a thousand things at once without cracking.

His name was Golwendir, and as far as I could tell, he had been running the court of the king of the woodland realm since before Thranduil's reign, though he didn't care to talk about himself.

The first day we met, he threw me immediately into the work of royal scribe, orienting me with where to find papers and bindings, how to properly record and store them, and how to check the ink to make sure it would last for as many centuries as possible. These were mostly things I already knew, but I could appreciate his attention to detail.

In the meantime, after unpacking all my things for the few months I would stay here in the Mirkwood, I sent my dear Rivendell elves home, but not without a promise from Prince Legolas and Captain Tauriel that they would be escorted _all_ the way out of the forest.

For my first job, Golwendir bade me copy an older, crumbling text for preservation. I suppose he was testing me to see if I was, in fact, legitimately good at scribing, or if I was simply a lady of fine breeding who got away with subpar work due to my station. I would like to believe I proved the former, for he quickly recommended me to the king to immediately begin service recording in the throne hall.

I will not easily forget my first day scribing in the hall of the woodland king. Golwendir guided me across the wooden platform walk, into the depths of amber-blue-green cavelight and pointed to an innocuous-looking small desk off to the side of the great throne and its receiving area. I surmised that unless someone knew to look for me, they likely wouldn't even realize I was there. Not that anyone was there currently, except the two of us.

"This will be your workspace," said Golwendir.

"Thank you," I said. "Um…"

"Yes?"

"May I request a bookcase?" I asked.

"For what purpose?"

"It's a long way back to the storage rooms," I said, looking around Golwendir at the winding wooden causewalk to the hall gates, "And I'd like to have a small store of ink, sand, and paper at the ready. One never knows when the king might have a meeting that goes long, and I don't want to miss scribing important things for lack of resources."

"Fair enough, Lady Eren," he replied.

"Perhaps I could even do some binding while I'm here during slow times?" I wondered out loud.

I glanced over at Golwendir to find him smiling at me. I decided to smile back.

"Very good," said Golwendir, and I supposed he was pleased with me so far.

The gates opened and everything immediately seemed more active at once. As Golwendir and I turned to see who it was, we saw the Elvenking entering, flanked by at least three counselors and a few extra guards, and somehow we both knew or perhaps just inferred we should stand in silence as he walked towards the throne. He was taller than all the other elves, I noticed, and I wondered if that was a Sindar trait or simply his own.

As he arrived at the throne, he didn't seem to notice Golwendir and I standing there. He ascended and seated himself as insufferably as he had the last I'd seen him there; one leg crossed over the other, with a dare in his eyes.

The guards took positions to either side of the throne, though I wondered who could possibly cause him harm here, deep in the heart of his realm, and if the guards were only there for intimidation. The counselors stood before the throne, waiting to be addressed.

Golwendir touched my arm, drawing my attention away from Thranduil, and glanced down at the desk. _My desk._ Oh, yes, I was supposed to be _scribing_. How this had slipped my mind amid all the flourish of court entry? I had to admit it was the fault of the intangible distinctiveness of the Elvenking, and I became determined not to be distracted again.

I gave Golwendir a smile and a nod, sat at my desk, and then I was _in my element._

"Nallon, what is your report?" demanded Thranduil.

"Nine of Shelob's offspring were found and killed last week on the westron path, Your Majesty, by the prince and Captain Tauriel," said Nallon.

"Very good," said Thranduil.

"Unfortunately, the spiders nearly killed the party from Rivendell first," said Nallon.

"Is that so?" asked Thranduil, though he didn't seem very concerned _at all_. I had to struggle not to smear the ink on the page.

"Your Majesty," said another counselor.

"Yes, Dregnir?"

"There has been an increase in spiders encroaching on our lands, sire," said Dregnir.

"Of that I am aware," said Thranduil, who seemed the sort to have little patience for repetition.

"Some of us have discussed the possibility of attacking the spiders in their spawning grounds, near Dol Guldur," said Dregnir.

"We will not be attacking anything near Dol Guldur, Dregnir," said Thranduil.

"But if we were to stop them from spawning-,"

"Our realm is here," said Thranduil, and I noticed a fire ignite in his eyes. "It is not Dol Guldur. I will not throw away elvish lives on an offensive campaign to control a spider population that we already have under control."

 _Interesting._

There was a pause among the counselors.

"Yes, sire," relented Dregnir.

Thranduil was clearly aware of his counselors' displeasure.

"If we are to begin campaigns to right wrongs outside of our own borders, where would it stop? There are not enough of us to right all the wrongs in Middle Earth, and to try to do so is the errand of a _fool_. Let those near Dol Guldur destroy the spawning grounds, and let us deal with that which directly threatens us. We are well equipped to kill a group of spiders that enters the wood now and again, but I should hope we are not so sick with hubris to think we can singlehandedly risk our realm's safety to destroy all of Shelob's spawn."

It was fascinating to watch Thranduil lecture other elves about _hubris._ My father was right that the king was an isolationist, and yet, I had not suspected how strongly it would come across in him. I wondered what had led him to such a stance.

"I can see the wisdom in your reasoning, my king," said Dregnir.

Thranduil seemed about to say more, but he didn't.

"Let us discuss the trade routes," he announced, commanding the subject be changed. I found it all _ridiculously_ interesting, trying to figure out the strange layers of the mad king and his government. As the elves discussed trade routes, then diplomacy with the other elven nations, and then an upcoming feast-festival, I watched and I tried to absorb everything I could, even while writing it all as well as I could manage. At last the court of King Thranduil came to an end.

Thranduil rose, gathered his robes, and deigned to descend from his throne, as the other elves bowed and allowed him to go first towards the walkway. He took the first step on the walk, and then stopped. The other elves stopped their following and milled curiously for a moment, clearly taken off-guard by Thranduil's sudden halt.

"I require the Royal Scribe in my library," he announced, his eyes still straight ahead towards the gates.

Golwendir tapped my arm in a very frantic way, and I realized that meant _me._

"Ah," I said, horribly executed, and I stood rapidly, and started gathering scribing materials in my arms.

 _"I didn't know this was a thing,"_ I whispered to Golwendir, as I tried to gauge how many papers I might need for whatever was about to happen in Thranduil's library.

 _"It usually isn't,"_ replied Golwendir, smiling reassuringly at the king, who, after the delay, had glanced towards myself and the court master with some degree of impatience.

I decided whatever I had in my arms would have to do, and disorganized though it was, I held onto it all and managed to not drop anything.

"Here I am," I replied with a smile, trying to follow as gracefully as possible while holding arms full of hastily gathered supplies. The rest of the court seemed a bit startled by my methods, but it was the best I could do under the sudden circumstances.

Thranduil ignored me and went on, and I supposed he meant for me to simply follow him, so I did. Glancing back at Golwendir by my desk, he shrugged and extended a hand in a gesture of support. Skies, what a day.

It took some amount of effort to avoid stepping on Thranduil's flowing robes, and also to not get trampled by the rest of the court following behind. I was stuck in the middle in a strange dance of how-to-not-offend-anyone, and I found myself wondering why the king had to wear such extravagant attire all the time. I definitely missed the sober, modest robes of my father.

"Good even, Your Majesty," said one of the counselors, and then another, and another, as we each parted ways. The guards stayed with us, and, as we arrived at what I assumed was the library door, they stationed themselves at either side of the entrance. Thranduil opened the door and I followed him in.

Thranduil's library was a far preferable place to the throne room, in my quick judgment. Books, papers, and scrolls lined burnished wood shelves, there were chairs that actually looked comfortable, some type of skylight mixed a pale blue with the amber light that suffused the rest of the caves, and there was a fireplace in one wall, which had been ornamented with the antlers of stags and pronghorn. I think the thing that most appealed to me about it was that it wasn't overly orderly. It looked as if it had been lived in, and lived in _well_. A sable rug made from the hide of some type of large animal I didn't recognize brought warmth to the floor, and a desk, made of a polished wood I'd not yet seen in the Greenwood which had a deep reddish hue, was clearly his. If I didn't assume as much due to this being his library, I would have done so by the way he approached and stood near the desk, with an effortless possessiveness I found to be peculiar to him.

I realized he was looking at me, and I regarded him with curiosity. He glanced behind me at the door, and so did I. It was open, and he meant for me to close it. I glanced down at all the scribing things in my hands, then glanced back at him. He heaved a longsuffering sigh.

 _Fine._

I attempted to shuffle the contents of my arms towards mostly being in one arm, and, dropping a few sheets, I caught them before they hit the floor, and I counted that as a victory. Finally, after more shuffling, I managed, with strong effort, to shut the door and to still not drop anything. I turned again, expectantly, to the king.

He had the gall to look amused. I'd not been raised by peasants, and therefore I managed to continue to show angelic-like patience towards the "Elvenking".

"I will now dictate a letter to you," he announced.

Easy enough. I glanced around for a hard surface to write upon, and it seemed the desk was the only place. _His_ desk.

"Of course, Your Majesty," I replied, moving towards the desk. Unfortunately, he blocked the way.

I cleared my throat gingerly and smiled politely, and again attempted to circumnavigate around him to the desk, but he did not move, and only observed my polite attempts.

"What are you trying to do?" he asked me.

"I'm trying to sit at the desk so I can write," I replied.

"That is my desk," he said, and the matter was closed.

This all felt like a horrible, horrible test, if only I could discern what he was trying to do, but my gut told me not to let him get under my skin, but to be as resilient and resourceful as I could manage. Resourcefulness was the only manner in which I could beat the Elvenking at his game.

I took a large book from a shelf, gave Thranduil a glance, and sat in one of the comfortable chairs, taking enough time to arrange my ink, quill, and paper in a decently functional manner. I looked up at him and waited.

He stood, like he always seemed to, as if he were posing for a portrait. One hand touched the edge of his desk gracefully, and he began to dictate.

"To Lord Elrond of Rivendell," said Thranduil, and I suffered a moment of surprise. He had asked me here to dictate a letter to my father? Surely he knew I would hang on every word, that I would be fiercely interested in what this letter would contain, and that I would be intimately privy to this letter, which would doubtless contain information about _me_ dictated by _him_ scribed by _me. Just what was he playing at?_ He glanced aside to me, as if annoyed that I hadn't started writing yet, and so I began and he continued:

"It is my pleasure to announce that I have received your daughter, Lady Eren of Rivendell, and her party at the kingdom of Greenwood, without harm or incident-"

I simply could not stop myself from choking. Were giant spider attacks not worth mention?

Thranduil stopped and gave me a bored glance.

I smiled serenely and indicated that he should continue.

He didn't miss a beat.

"-and that, following the safe dismissal of the Rivendell elves to return home, Lady Eren has assumed her duties as my royal scribe."

Moving a few steps into the room, and gathering his thoughts, he went on:

"While I must admit that she does, in fact, have talent at scribing," he said. "Perhaps even _great_ talent…"

Oh no, was he capable of complimenting a person?

"I am still not altogether certain _why_ she is here."

My quill stopped of its own accord. He heard me stop, and glanced askance at me, and I spurred myself on.

"Although, if there is one thing I _am_ certain of," he said, and I started to feel hot, for fear of what might be coming. "It is that as long as she is here, she will be conscious of all of the secrets of my kingdom of which I record."

I could tell he was looking at me, though I didn't want to look at him. I wrote.

"Therefore, in the interest of the security of my kingdom," he said, and by this time, by the timbre of his voice, I could tell he was facing me, watching me, and for all intents and purposes _talking to me_ , "She will not be allowed to send letters or leave my kingdom until her service to me is finished."

I completely stopped writing and looked up to gape at Thranduil. _Cut me off from my father? My sister? Would I be a prisoner? Was I already one?_

He did not stop looking at me as he continued to dictate the letter I had stopped writing: "I do hope you can understand the necessity of caution, but in matters of my kingdom I have only one allegiance, and that is the security of my lands and people."

He paused and there was silence between us for a long moment.

"Of course," he said, turning away, and doing a good job of pretending I was still writing his dictation and not utterly flabbergasted by his content, "She can choose to simply leave North Greenwood and go home to Rivendell, and I will not stop her. However, she will not be allowed to continue as my scribe until she has made her choice."

So I was not a prisoner, not yet, anyway.

"You must understand, Lord Elrond," he said, turning back to look me squarely in the eye, "I do not rule over the gentle waters of Rivendell, or the golden forests of Lothlorien, or the sighing winds of the Grey Havens. I rule over the Mirkwood, wherein darkness encroaches closer every day, and we must fight to maintain ourselves against the cruel outside. My position requires that I demand fealty from my every subject, and if your daughter is to remain as my scribe, she must swear fealty to me, and no one else."

"I cannot do that," I said to him, no longer able to maintain any scrap of the dictation façade.

"Then go home," he said simply.

I didn't move.

"How could I swear fealty to only you?" I asked, disbelieving he would ask such a thing of me.

"That is up to you to determine," he replied, as if he didn't care.

"It's impossible!" I said. "I would never turn my back on my father. Never, in a thousand years!"

His focus became sharp upon me.

"Ah, so he did put you up to this, Lady Eren?"

"I told you why I came!" I replied.

"You certainly told me a _story_ ," he said. "If you intend to continue working for me, you must now tell me the _truth_."

I stood suddenly, outraged, and filled to the brim with his tests and manipulations. Papers scattered on the rug, and the half-finished letter landed at his feet. He glanced down at it.

"You're not bad," he said.

"Of course I'm not bad! You'll never find a better scribe than me!"

He seemed extremely interested in my anger.

"But you must understand why I can't trust you," he said.

"I'm afraid you overestimate me," I said.

"Do I?" he asked, and he glanced again down to the papers on the floor, then back to me. "I've never seen a scribe so embroiled in court discussions as you were today. There wasn't a thing that got past you. I could feel you analyzing every nuance from where I sat."

I hadn't been aware he'd observed me at all in court.

"That's because," I said, "It was fascinating."

"Why?"

"You're the Elvenking that no one really knows, especially on the outside," I said. "After so many years of hearing conjecture, it was mesmerizing to discover the truth."

"What is the truth?"

"I don't know yet," I said. "I haven't put it all together."

"And see," he said, pointing at me. "This is exactly why I don't trust you."

"Why, because I'm curious?"

"No," he said. "Because you put things together."

"Is that wrong?" I asked.

"What are you going to do with those things, once you do put them all together, Lady Eren?" he asked.

I paused.

"I knew it," he said.

"You know nothing!" I objected.

"It's Elrond, isn't it? He's using his own daughter to spy on me."

"Why would he want to spy on you?" I demanded.

"Because I keep secrets and I always have, and the others can't stand it."

I had to admit to myself that Thranduil was probably right, as strange as it sounded, and he was uncannily right at pulling out the true reason I was here. How terrible I was at this subterfuge! I felt miserable and desperate at the same time, but knew that were I to navigate my way through this mess I'd have to be resourceful. Always resourceful.

I would never be able to truly swear fealty to Thranduil; he wasn't my king. I would always be loyal to my father; it was impossible to imagine otherwise. Therefore, my problem at that time was convincing Thranduil to let me stay as his scribe _without_ swearing fealty to him. Thus far in our negotiations, Thranduil's strength had been his isolationist paranoia. What other elves might not see, he saw, because he was always looking for it. He was always looking out for his people, perhaps to a fault. I had to figure out a way to frame my place in his court as being more of a benefit to him and his kingdom than a risk, and I had to do it quickly. Perhaps I could also appeal to his vanity.

"You're right," I said, and his eyebrows raised. "The others want to know what you're about. You isolate your people and hunker down here in the woods where no one can reach you, and keep to yourself. You're hard to work with and uncooperative, and pretend like you don't care about anything else in the world except your own kingdom."

"How dare you come into my halls and say such things," he said.

"Don't you want to know the truth?" I asked.

That gave him pause. Of course, he did. Everyone did.

"My father tasked me to keep an eye on you," I told him.

"How typical of him," said Thranduil, a tinge of bitterness in his voice. "Always certain he knows what is best for everyone, though I have ruled this forest for more than an age. Is it no wonder I keep to myself rather than be counseled by those who have no idea how to manage the Dark Wood?"

"Do not speak poorly of my father towards me," I warned.

He observed me keenly for a moment.

"I can appreciate fealty towards one's father," he admitted. I did not know if he was thinking of Prince Legolas' loyalty towards himself, or his own loyalty to his late father, or perhaps simply the value of honoring fathers in general. Perhaps it was a trait he liked in a person. Perhaps this had all been a test to see how loyal I could be.

He turned to his desk and sat behind it, crossing one leg casually over the other.

"I will not ask you to relinquish your loyalty to your father," he said, parlaying. "However, that is all I will give you. I want everything else."

"Will I be able to write to him?" I asked.

"No," he said.

"Impossible!"

"What sort of king would I be if I allowed you to have free discourse with your father about the secrets of my kingdom?" he demanded.

"But I cannot be cut off," I said.

"Then letters are allowed, but only through me," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"I must read them all first," he said.

I considered him.

"Fine," I conceded. I made a mental note to make each letter very long and very, very boring.

"Then we are in agreement," he said.

"I believe we are," I replied.

"You will be my scribe."

"I will."

"Very good," he said.

It was only for a few months, anyway.

"Would you mind picking up those papers on your way out?" he asked.

Only a few months.

-ooOOoo-


	3. Entry Three: Autumn Feast

_To Mr. B. Surrey_

 _Acadamiae Hall, Old Minas Tirith, Gondor_

 _Dear Cousin,_

 _While I am pleased that the record my brother and I have unearthed is valuable to your research, please do not send a team of archaeologists to tear up my hill. That hill is a prime grazing hill for my herds, and I don't have another one like it. I assure you there's probably nothing else in that hill worth digging up._

 _Regards,_

 _Mr. T. Brown_

 _Wiltshire, Green Woods, Rhovanion_

 _-ooOOoo—_

Entry Three:

November 30th, T.A. 2941

I've been in the Greenwood for over three months, so I suppose it's time to record my progress as the Elvenking's scribe. The time has flown by. There is rarely a boring day in this kingdom, or perhaps it is just the newness of everything that continues to intrigue me.

Shortly after the parlay with the king and being reinstated as his royal scribe, I returned to work with the understanding between us that I would be loyal to his kingdom to the degree that it did not conflict with my loyalty to my father. That put me a bit in a rough spot, since my father wanted me to report on the goings on with Thranduil, and Thranduil wanted me to do no such thing and would be reviewing our correspondence personally. That juxtaposition required that I once again try to be resourceful.

A few days after our parley and my reinstatement, he "required the Royal Scribe" in his library again after court, and this time he dictated a different letter to my father:

 _To the esteemed Lord Elrond of Rivendell,_

 _It is my pleasure to have received the Lady Eren of Rivendell in my kingdom on August the 8_ _th_ _with her company of Rivendell elves in tow. They did an excellent job of escorting her, and have been sent home to Rivendell with woodland realm gifts for your court._

 _As for Lady Eren, you were quite right about her rare ability to scribe, and I look forward to her time in my service._

 _Regards,_

 _Thranduil_

 _King of the Woodland Realm_

"Well," I said, once he had finished his dictation and we began the process of wax-stamping everything, "I suppose it's only fair that if I should be able to read all of your letters, then you should be able to read all of mine."

There was only a little bit of cynicism in my words. Mostly I did understand that he needed to feel secure for his own kingdom, and I also now understood that Thranduil required far more work than most to feel secure.

"I can write for myself, you know," he said as he dripped hot, red wax onto the folded letter. There was something almost meditative in the way he did it.

"But do you?" I asked, handing him his stamp.

"Perhaps," he said, taking the stamp and pressing it into the wax. "But that certainly isn't for you to know."

"That would sting more if I didn't know everything else," I rejoined.

He gave me side-eye.

"So, here's this," I said, changing the subject and pulling out a large sheaf of papers and plopping it on his desk.

"What is this?" he asked.

"My first letter to my father," I said with a smile.

"This?" he asked, picking up the papers and flipping through them in disbelief. "There might be twenty pages in this!"

"Twenty-six, actually," I said.

"When did you have time to write all of this?" he demanded.

"Last night," I said, as if that was normal.

"Good heavens," he said, perhaps seeing some of the potential flaws in his plan.

Regardless, he began to read and I began gathering up my scribing materials. He'd made it to page three before he let out a pained noise. I'd been waiting for that sound.

"You don't _have_ to read my letters, you know," I said.

"That's exactly what you would _want_ me to do, isn't it?" he replied, and then he held up the pages in his hand and said: "You're trying to dissuade me from vetting your letters by boring me to death."

"What could you mean?" I asked, mortified. "I happen to have a lot to talk about with my father."

Thranduil held up a page and began to quote:

" _As I sat on a bench, I saw an ant, and then I saw another one. Then there was a third. Then, father, you wouldn't believe that there was a fourth. Perhaps there would be more. I waited to see."_

"Who corresponds like this?" Thranduil asked everything.

"You have insulted my writing, sire," I said, brushing off my sleeve.

"You have insulted my intelligence, Lady Eren," he replied.

"You have insulted my honor," I rejoined, proud.

"You have insulted the art of letter writing altogether," he insisted, holding out the letter as evidence.

"Enough," I said, brusque, and Thranduil leaned back in his chair. "If you would rather, I can ask Golwendir to vet my letters. He knows most of the ins and outs of the kingdom. He is thorough and precise, and accustomed to tedious jobs, even jobs as _tedious_ as reading the _precious letters I write from my heart to my dear, dear father._ "

Thranduil sat in his chair and eyed me.

"You are wily beyond anything I could have imagined," said Thranduil.

"What?" I asked.

"How did Elrond raise a child to be so wily?" he asked.

"I'm not _wily_ ," I objected.

"It doesn't make any sense," said Thranduil, ignoring my objection. "Elrond isn't wily at _all._ How did you get this way?"

"I told you-," I began.

"That you're not wily," he finished for me. "Yes, of course you're not."

There was a long pause, where we both knew there was a façade but neither of us breached it.

"So," I said. "Shall I have Golwendir read my letters instead?"

"No," said Thranduil.

"But your time is precious, sire," I said.

"I might believe you if you weren't prone to hoard an unusually large amount of it," he said, and he held up the thick letter as proof.

I cleared my throat delicately.

"Regardless, let's play pretend," said Thranduil with a smile, but it wasn't a nice smile. It was a not-nice smile. I grew worried. "Let's say you're _not_ wily, and let's say you're simply _trying to get practical experience in scribing_ , and that you're not here to _throw my entire kingdom into disarray._ "

I opened my mouth to object to that last one, but he cut me off.

"Then I would say that I find it in the best interest of everyone that you are here rather than anywhere else, because, of course, you need practical experience in scribing, and you're so very _innocent_ that you clearly need protection, and the case most certainly is _not_ that _I want to keep my eye on you because the stars know what you might do to the world if left to your own devices._ "

"Once again, you overestimate me, sire!"

"It is better to overestimate than underestimate someone, isn't it?" he asked.

He was right, actually.

During the following weeks I continued learning about the Kingdom of the Woodland Realm, and it was different from Rivendell in every way imaginable. Dol Guldur came up over and over in discussions, debates, even arguments. Everyone knew nothing good would come from what was happening at Dol Guldur, but Thranduil wanted nothing to do with it. He wanted to wait until a threat came knocking at his door before he would make a move, and that might take a long time, if ever. There was the occasional flushing out of spiders in the woods, there was trade with men and elves, and then there were preparations for the Autumnal Feast.

I discovered that if there's one thing woodland elves like to do, it's throw parties. I'd never encountered another government which placed equal importance on the planning of an upcoming banquet and the elimination of Shelob-borne spawn knocking at the gates. It turns out they have a feast for the change of every season, and autumn came, so a feast was carefully prepared. It was my first, and so I came into it ready to learn some woodland elf traditions.

The feasts were held on the surface, which was a rarity among the woodland elves, and under starlight, which they loved. I shared the same love, and so I was pleased as I climbed the path to the feast-grounds with Legolas under the starry sky. Around the grounds grew curving, slender trees with red-hued leaves on which hung strings of glowing lanterns, casting a soft, golden glow over the whole scene. Tables of that same pale wood from the caves were assembled, laden with rich, autumnal harvests and more candlelight. A russet leaf fell here and there, floating its descent on a crisp breeze to the mottled grassy ground, and the whole place was filled with elves enjoying life. I couldn't help but smile.

"Do you like it, Lady Eren?" asked Legolas, observing my reaction.

"Very much," I said. "It's beautiful!"

He smiled like starshine, and escorted me to the table where his father sat. King Thranduil presided over the feast in a crown I hadn't seen, with vibrant red leaves, ripe berries, and rich brown thorns. It was a nice touch. I smiled at the king and he nodded his approval of my existence. I suppose it was the best I could hope for.

I sat beside Legolas, who had the King on his other side. On my left was Golwendir, and I was grateful to sit next to those I knew best in the kingdom.

"How is your position coming along, Lady Eren?" asked Golwendir during the feast.

"Quite enjoyable," I said truthfully. "I've been scribing practically every day!"

"My father has certainly found a lot of work for her," said Legolas, leaning towards us so Golwendir could hear. "I begin to wonder if he's trying to overwork her until she deserts us."

"It's nothing I can't handle," I said with a nonchalant flick of my wrist, and I glanced past Legolas to see King Thranduil eavesdropping, and not even _trying_ to hide the fact that he was eavesdropping _and_ amused. He began to turn away, and so I said to Legolas, "If he's trying to run me out of Mirkwood, he's going to have to try harder."

Thranduil looked at me as if I'd thrown down a challenge, and one which he was all too pleased to take on. I returned his look with my own determined one, _daring_ him to try. He lifted his goblet to his lips and drank.

I smiled at Legolas.

"When do we dance?" I asked.

"Good question!" exclaimed Legolas, looking around for the musicians. There they were, in the shadow of a golden-leafed aspen at the corner of two tables, but they were playing gentle, feasting music instead of lively, dancing music.

"That won't do," said Legolas, and he stood to call: "Musicians! A dance!"

The music changed at once into a brisk, merry tune, and I found myself laughing and clapping my hands at the efficiency of the prince.

"Come on, then!" he said, holding out his hand to me as other elves, who seemed to have the same idea, poured into the grassy clearing in the middle of the feasting tables to dance.

Oh, and did we _dance_. I wasn't jesting when I mentioned that the woodland elves knew how to _party_. I was unable to recall a merrier revelry I'd ever attended before that one, that night. Legolas taught me several of the dances peculiar to the woodland elves and we danced until the starlit sky deepened from midnight blue to diamond-pricked darkest black.

Later in the night, the guard was relieved by a change and Captain Tauriel finally joined us.

"Are you running this poor Rivendell elf into the ground with your dancing, Legolas?" Tauriel asked with a smile as she arrived.

Legolas stopped and turned his starlight-smile on Tauriel.

"Tauriel!" he said, and then asked, as if amazed at his luck: "Has the guard changed already?"

"Here I am," said Tauriel.

"And the answer is yes, he _is_ running me ragged," I laughed. "Celebrations in Rivendell are… not like this."

Tauriel grinned.

"Why not?" she asked. "It's so much more _fun_ this way."

"I honestly have no idea," I agreed. Feasts in Rivendell would seem very muted from then on.

"Have you eaten yet?" asked Legolas of Tauriel.

"I'm fine," she said, modestly rebuffing his concern, though I could tell she liked it.

I glanced between the two of them and read the room.

"Legolas, you've exhausted me," I declared. "Might I excuse myself to sit for a spell?"

"Of course," he said, and then bowing, "Thank you, Lady Eren."

I curtsied. "Thank _you_ , Prince Legolas."

It was a fine night, and as I wandered off, for the first time since the very beginning of the night I had the time and presence of mind to take in the scene. There was something very wonderful about the woodland elves; they possessed a keen joy in living which I had not seen in any other of my kin. It was as if the very darkness that threatened them brought out in them the ability to grasp life and live it with a buoyancy and celebration that I found catching. It seeped into me as I associated with them, and it was something to which I was quickly becoming accustomed.

Beneath the red leafed branches of a row of trees I discovered Thranduil as he observed the revelry with two guards respectfully behind him. Perhaps he had been walking about, perhaps merely standing. It was impossible to tell, for he, as always, looked as if he were posing for a portrait. His robes were russet silk, threaded with elaborate silver embroidery, to match his crown and his hair, perhaps. His chin lifted slightly, and then he spoke.

"How long do you intend to watch me from the shadows, Lady Eren?" he asked, only turning to glance at me once he said my name.

Was I _really_ watching from the shadows? He certainly knew how to cast me in a nefarious light.

"I mean you no harm, Your Majesty," I said with a smirk, emerging from the shadows, if there actually were any shadows to emerge from. "I was only wondering what you are about."

I came to stand beside him and he looked over me once.

"How do you like the season's feast?" he asked, glancing back toward the dancing, reveling elves.

A true smile broke out on my face, the joy of dancing with Legolas flooding back over me.

"It's positively _wonderful_ ," I said honestly.

Thranduil looked pleased.

"How do _you_ like it, sire?" I asked.

He seemed not to expect that question, and took a moment to consider his response.

"I like it," he pronounced.

"But you never danced once," I said.

"I don't need to," he said.

"Do you want to?" I asked.

"Not tonight," he said.

"Why not?" I asked.

He glanced at me as if I'd overstepped my bounds, and at that moment I realized I had. The revelry of the night had rendered me loose-tongued and I was embarrassing myself in front of the king.

I cleared my throat.

"Pardon me," I said with a sheepish curtsy and a movement to leave.

He caught my wrist before I could go.

"I've not dismissed you," he said.

"I wasn't aware you had to," I replied.

"I … don't want to," he said.

"Don't want to what?" I asked. "Dismiss me or dance?"

"Dismiss you, of course, why are you still talking about dancing?"

He seemed testy. I looked down at his hand, still clasped around my wrist.

"Do you need something… scribed?" I asked.

"No," he said.

"Then, um…" I ventured.

"Fine," he said, irritably, and as if harangued. "Let us dance."

I gasped excitedly. "Really?"

He apparently found my query too tiresome to answer as he led me to where the other elves were dancing, and brought me into one of the lively traditional woodland elf dances Legolas had taught me earlier in the night, one in which the elves formed lines that intermingled and intertwined. I was grateful for Legolas' excellent instruction because Thranduil wasn't going to wait for me, should I miss the steps. The other elves seemed even more enthusiastic with their revelry, now that the _elf king_ had joined them, and Legolas with Tauriel squeezed in beside us to inquire.

"How in the world did Lady Eren convince you to join us, father?" asked Legolas, as his and Thranduil's line faced mine and Tauriel's, preparing to meet in the middle.

"She didn't," he said, haughty as usual. "I simply wanted to dance."

I met him in the middle and took his hands, and his eyes met mine, and I knew he was lying, and he knew he was lying, and he knew I knew he was lying, and he dared me silently to dispute it. I didn't, but I gave him a smile that told him I _could have._ He took my hands in his own grasp, a faint smile crossed his eyes, and then pulled me along into a fierce turn… and I laughed.

Thus we danced, all of us, myself and the whole woodland kingdom, on the feast of autumn until the eastern horizon gloamed cobalt blue. I would not forget it… I would _never_ forget it. It was the glorious calm before the storm.

-ooOOoo-


	4. Entry Four: The Arkenstone

_To Mr. T. Brown_

 _Wiltshire, Green Woods, Rhovanion_

 _Dear Cousin,_

 _While I do understand your hesitation in allowing archaeologists to survey your hill, I assure you all work will be done in the least disruptive way possible, and your grazing land will be left to your herds. Since I'm certain you don't quite grasp the enormity of this find, I have sent a team of archaeologists to your hill to begin the survey. Let me know how it goes._

 _Warmest Regards,_

 _Mr. B. Surrey_

 _Academiae Hall, Old Minis Tirith, Gondor_

 _-ooOOoo—_

Entry Four:

November 30th, T.A. 2941 (Continued)

I didn't have time to finish earlier, since Thranduil needed me for yet another correspondence, and I will soon complete what has gotten everything into disarray here in the Mirkwood. I suppose it is better to start a new entry for these most recent events anyway, so as not to tarnish the delightful memory of the Autumnal Feast.

The next morning after the feast, well, suffice it to say no one really stirred at all. The kingdom was decidedly muted. As for myself, I awoke at midday sore, exhausted, and strangely joyful. Rays of sunlight streamed into my room from a skylight, shifting the amber where it struck to gold, then white, then pale green. I watched it for a while, and the shimmering motes of dust that floated across it, but then a knock at the door startled me out of my meditation.

I sat up.

"Yes?" I called.

Golwendir's muted voice said something I couldn't make out on the other side. I got up and opened the door. He looked at my unprepared appearance and seemed dismayed.

"Lady Eren, you're needed in the throne room right away," he said.

"What? The king is holding court _now?"_ I asked.

"He is," he said.

"But I thought today was supposed to be a holiday," I said.

"It was," he said.

"But-," I began.

"The Captain found _dwarves_ in the woods," he said.

"Dwarves in the woods!" I replied.

"And there were more spiders," he said.

"Of course there were more spiders!" I said, sighing.

"Please hurry," he said.

"I will," I said, and shut the door.

I'd never gotten myself presentable more quickly in my life, and as I rushed down the wooden walkway to the throne of the king (and my humble desk), I could see Thranduil was already standing on the dais in his autumn crown, surrounded by and embroiled in a briefing with his counselors. He spared me a glance as I arrived, as if taking note that another piece of the puzzle which was required had fallen in, and then his attention went back to the others.

"The guard said the king of the dwarves is with them," said Nallon.

"The king?" asked Thranduil.

"Well, the one with rights to the throne, should they manage to reinstate their kingdom," said Nallon.

"Thorin Oakenshield," said Dregnir.

"Yes, I know him," said Thranduil, and then he paused. "What does he want?"

"To reclaim the Lonely Mountain," said Dregnir, and Thranduil's eyebrows raised.

"Interesting. Then I suppose you should bring him here," said Thranduil. "Let us talk."

"And the other dwarves?" asked Dregnir.

"Hold them for now, until we know their full purpose in Mirkwood," said Thranduil.

"Yes, sire," said Dregnir, and he sent the guards to bring the dwarf king.

In the meantime, I arranged everything for decent scribing, and Thranduil was ushered up to his throne while the counselors made themselves scarce. Guards placed themselves on either side of the king's throne, and Thranduil arranged himself in his usual position, leg crossed over the other, and we waited.

It felt so much like staging, and I suppose that's what we were doing; staging the scene of what we were and what we were supposed to stand for. We waited, and I watched Thranduil on his throne. He veneered himself with calm control but I knew he was nervous. I wondered _why_ he was nervous. He watched the doors with all his attention, and he waited.

Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, the doors burst open and a dwarf, filthy and covered in cobwebs, was brought to the foot of Thranduil's throne. Despite his filthiness, there _was_ something regal about him. Was it in the way he carried himself? His silence? His eyes? He looked like a dwarf who carried a burden and held a light at the same time. He met Thranduil's gaze with equal intensity as the Elvenking's own, and I knew that would intrigue Thranduil. It was Thranduil who spoke first, rising from his throne to descend.

"Some may imagine that a noble quest is at hand," he said, and Thorin watched him, warily. "A quest to reclaim a homeland and slay a dragon."

"I, myself, suspect a more prosaic motive," Thranduil went on. "Attempted burglary, or something of that ilk."

He was insulting the dwarf. Why was he insulting the dwarf? I could also see he was using his height to intimidate him. There had to be more to these two kings than I knew at the time. I would soon find that to be so.

Thorin remained silent, despite insults.

"You have found a way in," said Thranduil, and I realized he wasn't only good at figuring out _my_ purposes, but others' as well. "You seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule: the King's Jewel."

"The Arkenstone," said Thranduil.

I watched Thorin's face react to the mention of the stone. I knew of it, at least in passing. There were few educated in Middle Earth who had not heard tell of the Arkenstone, but it wasn't known as a gem of wonder. It was known as a gem of foreboding and greed.

"It is precious to you beyond measure, I understand that," said Thranduil, and I watched and knew he was shifting into a parley, but something else possessed him entirely as he went on: "There are gems in the mountain that I too desire… White gems of pure starlight."

 _Curious._

"I offer you my help," he said, snapping out of it.

Thorin smiled at him, but it was a wry, mistrustful thing.

"I am listening," said Thorin simply.

"I will let you go, if you but return what is mine," said Thranduil. He seemed very possessive of those gems.

"A favor for a favor," said Thorin, turning away to pace.

"You have my word," said Thranduil. "One king to another."

I could tell the feeling in the room was shifting before Thorin even spoke.

"I would not trust Thranduil the 'great king' to only his word, til the end of all days be upon us!" said Thorin, turning back to stare daggers at Thranduil. "You lack all honor! I have seen how you treat your friends! We came to you once, starving, homeless, seeking your help… but you turned your back! You turned away from the suffering of my people and the inferno that destroyed us!"

Thranduil was shocked at first at Thorin's outburst, but he recovered, and I saw something building in him, that fire which he kept so carefully controlled.

 _"Ishkh khakfe andu null!"_ spat Thorin, and Thranduil's control broke.

The Elvenking drew close to the dwarf with a fury I'd never seen in an elf.

" _Do not talk to me of dragon fire!"_ seethed Thranduil, "I know its wrath and ruin. I have faced the great serpents of the North."

Oh, dear skies, I didn't know what I was witnessing. Thranduil seemed struck by pain, pain of now, or pain of memory, or pain of ancient injury, and I saw it on his face; the internal scars he carried from the wars of the Second Age, and I wondered what did he suffer? How close did they lie to the surface? How much did he labor to bury the terrors of the past?

Thranduil pulled back and the vision disappeared; he regained control. For now. And Thorin was silenced. He looked down upon Thorin and spoke:

"I warned your grandfather of what his greed would summon, but he would not listen."

He began to walk up the steps to his throne.

"You are just like him," said Thranduil, his voice not accusing, nor insulting, but plain, and perhaps even hinting at sorrow. He made a motion to his guards, and they began to take Thorin away.

"Stay here if you will," said Thranduil, "and rot. A hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf."

He watched the dwarf king as he was dragged down the wooden walkway.

"I'm patient," he said, though he looked as if something else was behind his words, something that pained him greatly. "I can wait."

The doors shut, the dwarven king was gone. I looked at Thranduil.

He was strung tight, like the string of a bow, and his breath was short.

No one spoke.

I counted Thranduil's breaths. One, two, three… and then he began to descend again to the dais. As he passed my desk, his eyes found first the paper on which I had been writing, and then my eyes. He looked away.

"I will be in my library," he said to the guards, and he left.

When the doors closed behind the king, I released the breath I didn't know I'd been holding. What had I just seen? Was this the madness of the Elvenking? What were the gems of which his spoke? Why did he want them so badly? What dragons had he fought? What horrible wars had he lived through? What had he _lost_ in those wars? I had so many questions and I didn't know how to process any of them, but I knew distantly that he was right about me; I put things together, and right then I was trying to put together who the Elvenking really was.

Most of all, though, I just felt horribly sorry. I knew then that I hadn't yet scratched the surface of what motivated Thranduil, and what haunted him. I felt terrible for judging him before, because I knew nothing. I suppose on that day I grew up, just a little.

I didn't see Thranduil again for the rest of that day. I don't know what he was doing, but I supposed he was coming to terms with whatever ghosts Thorin had unearthed in him.

That night I wrote a letter to my father, though I didn't know if Thranduil would allow me to send it:

 _Dear Father,_

 _I hope things are well in Rivendell. The Woodland Realm is … interesting. We had a feast beyond anything I've ever experienced, and I don't think I've beheld such joy in revelry before. I joined in and completed the night exhausted and happy._

 _Today, however, Thorin Oakenshield came into the woods. He seems so bitter towards the Elvenking. It seems like he hates him. Do you know why? They both seem to have suffered at the hands of dragons, and I feel as if I'm missing some very important information._

 _Thorin is questing to recover the Lonely Mountain for his people and to cast out the dragon inside of it. Does it seem like a fool's errand, father? Can a few dwarves manage to do such a thing? For now, however, they are simply being held in the elven dungeons for… I suppose… safekeeping._

 _I don't really know what to think._

 _Prince Legolas is a delight, by the way. Excellent with a bow and excellent in the dance. He seems to love his life and fulfilling his duty._

 _King Thranduil is an enigma. I don't know enough. But we manage to get along fine. He has treated me well and he is clearly protective of his lands and people._

 _I miss you. Tell Arwen I miss her, too._

 _Love,_

 _Eren_

I assumed there was no way Thranduil would let me send that letter, but it made me feel better just to write it. I wished at that time to have the wisdom of my father, and I didn't have it. It was painful.

I sent the letter with a servant to Thranduil for vetting, though I had little hope in it, but later that night I received a summons from the king to his library.

I arrived to find him sitting behind his desk with my letter in his hand. He glanced at me, then the door, and so I shut it. He looked tired.

"Have a seat," he said, and I sat in the chair closest to his desk.

He put my letter down on the desk and moved it carefully until it was perfectly square with the edges of the desk, a movement that could have no real purpose except to gather his thoughts.

"This letter is very short," he said.

"I didn't feel like writing more today," I replied.

"I cannot send this to your father," he said.

I didn't reply.

"This is exactly what I feared would happen with you as my scribe," he said.

"What would be wrong with gleaning some of father's wisdom in this situation?" I asked.

"It is not your situation to understand," he said.

He was right, even though I didn't want him to be.

"You are merely my royal scribe," he said. "You are not my advisor, nor my counselor."

I looked away, unhappy with the truth.

"Stop putting things together," he said.

"I can't help it," I said.

"Yes, you can," he said.

He was right again. I was, of course, capable of minding my own business.

"I don't want to," I said.

He folded his hands together and sighed.

"I'm sorry," I added.

"But not sorry enough to let well enough alone," he said.

"No," I said, truthfully.

"Please don't make me send you home," he said, and it sounded like he meant it, like he _didn't_ want to send me home, and like I was putting him in between a rock and a hard place.

"It's just that I'm concerned, or I worry, or I see things in you that I've never seen in anyone else and I wonder at them and I so badly want to know the why and the how and the when," I said, spilling out something that was likely incomprehensible. "I just want to know… what _happened_ to you? Why are you like this?"

"What am I like?" he asked.

I paused. How was I to put it succinctly?

"You're," I said, thinking, "like a … dormant volcano."

He seemed to find that strange and amusing. Or maybe it was just _me_ he found strange and amusing.

"Let me explain," I said. "A dormant volcano has a past of fire and violence to exhaustion, but has long since cooled. Green beauty may grow over it in dormancy, but that consuming fire is still there, just hidden. Waiting. But waiting for what?"

He rested his chin in his palm and let me continue.

"And it might pretend to be a green, verdant forest, but it can only pretend; it will always be a volcano, and will always, beneath its carefully compacted layers, threaten to erupt," I said. "It would only take the right pressure to make it happen."

"Do you find me unstable, Lady Eren?" he asked, chin still in palm, not seeming concerned at all.

"Should I lie or tell the truth?" I asked.

"That's answer enough," he said, shifting to sit straight. "And therefore, I don't want to send you home."

"Why not?"

"Because…" he began, considering. "You say things like that."

I waited, unsure of why that was a benefit.

"It's…" he tried again, and maybe he didn't even know exactly why, himself. "It's different. Interesting. Not boring. Intriguing."

"Oh," said I. "Well."

"But this," he said, pointing at the letter on his desk, "I cannot do."

"But what if my father knows something about Thorin and the dwarves that could help you?" I asked.

"I would rather take my chances than have your father and the rest of the elves stick their noses into my kingdom's business," he replied. "I have more history with Thorin and his kin than your father could possibly have."

"What is that history?" I asked.

"Ah, so here we come to it," he said. "You could have simply asked me these questions yourself, instead of writing them in a letter to your father that you knew I would read."

"The questions were burning me," I said. "I did not feel as if I could ask them, but writing them helped relieve me somewhat."

"I do not like it," he said.

"What?"

"These questions," he answered.

"Would you rather I had none?" I asked.

"No," he said, and we both paused in his contradiction. He took a long moment to look down at his desk, and then he shifted his gaze back to me, though I could see he was elsewhere in his mind.

"The ways of dwarves have never been the ways of elves," he said. "I knew Thorin's grandfather quite well. Thror was an excellent king to his people at first, as the King Under the Mountain. Under his leadership the dwarves became great defenders of their kingdom, they became industrious, knowledgeable, and then, as is the result of industry and knowledge, great wealth flowed through their doors. I warned but was unheeded; I watched the wealth of the mountain corrupt Thror into madness, and it began with the Arkenstone."

"The Arkenstone!" I said, enthralled.

"It was indeed a jewel unsurpassed in its glory. I've not seen another one like it, though its particular charms are not what I desire," he said. "But when they found the Arkenstone was perhaps the moment when Thror began to believe he was impervious to all things. He embedded it into his throne, where all who came to his throne room would see the Arkenstone's glory. Then, slowly, he began to believe the Arkenstone's glory was his glory, that the Arkenstone's unique perfection was his unique perfection, and that the Arkenstone's irreplaceability made him irreplaceable. He began to believe his own lies."

"What were those lies?" I asked.

"That he was his great wealth and his great wealth was him. He could no sooner part with a single gemstone as he would part with an arm or a leg. He could not let any part of it go, he had lost himself. He was no longer Thror; he was a slave to his gold."

"How sorrowful," I said.

"The telling is only a hundredth part of the sorrow of the watching," he said, and he focused on me. "His judgment became erratic, he grew impulsive and reclusive, and selfish, and…"

Thranduil's eyes lost focus.

"He withheld from me what is mine," he said, and then regarded me again. "There isn't much I care for in this world, but the necklace which his dwarves crafted from the White Gems of Lasgalen is mine."

"He kept it?" I asked.

"Yes," he said, and he seemed pained in the recollection.

I sighed. Thranduil moved on in the telling.

"Thror grew too wealthy and too blinded by his wealth. It was only a matter of time before disaster would befall him and his kingdom," he said. "A kingdom can only thrive for so long under a selfish ruler. A dragon noticed. They smell it, you know… _greed_."

"Do they?" I wondered.

"It isn't the gold, Lady Eren, it's the _greed_. Dragons sense it, and they feed from it, and under the mountain, in King Thror's halls, was the greatest vein of greed in a thousand years. It was impossible that a dragon would not notice it, and desire it to take it for himself."

Thranduil shifted his weight in his chair.

"Smaug inevitably came, and he attacked the Kingdom Under the Mountain, and King Thror had been so sure of his imperviousness and greatness and glory that he hadn't prepared for a dragon. He had been blind to his own greed; if he'd known, he would have prepared, but he didn't. And… I couldn't help him."

He seemed to regret the last part.

"How could I fight a dragon with my woodland elves?" he asked me. "An arrow cannot pierce the hide of a dragon!"

I had no answer.

"How could I sacrifice my people for King Thror's foolishness and pride?" he asked.

I felt sorry he'd had to make that choice. Silence fell over us and the only sound was the faint crackle of dimming fireplace embers.

"Now, Thorin blames me," he said, "for the misfortune of his kin, somehow believing that if I had come to fight the dragon that it might be expelled. What he doesn't understand that I could not expel the greed that his grandfather wrought, only his grandfather could, and only Thror could have removed the one thing drawing a dragon to his halls. Only Thror could have saved his people, but he did not."

"I see Thror in Thorin… before the madness," said Thranduil, tinged with a quiet sorrow. "The fire in his eyes is the strength that Thror once had. Perhaps it is for the best if I keep him here, kept from the Lonely Mountain altogether, for if he were to go back, if he were to manage to drive out Smaug, would he only fall to greed like his father before him?"

"I…," began Thranduil, "I don't want to watch it happen again."

"I understand now," I said, and I found I couldn't look away from the faint sorrow and vulnerability of Thranduil's tale. How terrible to watch the mistakes of others lead to the ruin of kingdoms! To know how to avoid the mistakes but to be unheeded and forced to watch the suffering that came!

"Have I answered enough of your questions for tonight?" he asked, looking tired again.

"Yes," I said, and then added: "Thank you."

"You've wiled me into telling you more than I'd ever intended," he said, a faint light of amusement touching his eyes. "Don't insult me with thanks."

"Yes, well," I said. "All part of the plan."

He laughed.

"Now will you please rewrite this letter?" he asked me, picking up the letter from his desk and holding it out with a long-suffering expression.

"As you wish, Your Majesty."

-ooOOoo-


	5. Entry Five: The Battle of Five Armies

**A/N: I included the rest of the events from The Hobbit in this chapter since it was all fairly mandatory when dealing with Thranduil, but I will be moving on to The Lord of the Rings events, and other lore. Some things may be inaccurate... for a while I tried to be as accurate as possible but that proved too time consuming so I am just going with my general ideas of things and fact checking a few things. I hope it isn't too grating! Thanks for the wonderful reviews and for reading. :)**

 _To Mr. B. Surrey_

 _Academiae Hall, Old Minas Tirith, Gondor_

 _Dear Cousin,_

 _This will not do at all. I have already stated that I need this hill for grazing, and I have no other. I am beginning to be sorry I ever sent you the record in the first place. Your surveyors arrived a week ago, and have torn up half of the hillside, looking for artifacts! If you don't call them off, I'm going to set my prize bull on them, and that'll run them out._

 _Warmest Regards,_

 _Mr. T. Brown_

 _Wiltshire, The Green Wood, Rhovanion_

-ooOOoo—

Entry Five:

The next morning, I received _another_ early wake-up call from a frantic Golwendir.

"Yes?" I asked, opening the door.

"You're needed right away, Lady Eren," said Golwendir.

"What is it now?" I asked.

"The dwarves have escaped!" he said.

"What am I supposed to do about that?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said. "But the king and his counsel are gathering to discuss what happens next, and-,"

"Ah, I see," I said. "I'll be right there."

I found it rather fascinating that the dwarves had escaped, as it seemed highly an unlikely caper to pull off, considering the security of the elves' dungeons. The fellow who had care of the keys said they'd disappeared, like…well… _magic._ I wondered what sort of magic the dwarves had to make keys magically perform for them when they needed them to. Maybe that's how Thorin planned to get into the Lonely Mountain.

Just as odd was their method of escape; they hopped in barrels and rode down the river. It certainly wasn't a method of escape I would have thought of, or would have wanted to think of, but in a way, I could see it as somewhat ingenious since the spiders couldn't harass them in the river, and apparently neither could we.

Thorin and his dwarvlings got away, and I had supposed that would be the end of the story. But it wasn't.

Prince Legolas and Captain Tauriel went away for a time to keep an eye on things with the dwarves and the Lonely Mountain, and when they came back to report, that was when everything went to the dogs.

It was a normal day in the throne room, with Thranduil discussing some trifles with his counselors and I at the scribing desk, when Legolas and Tauriel burst in with news from the Lonely Mountain, or what had become of it.

"Smaug awoke and left the mountain," said Legolas as he approached his father's throne, and Thranduil was instantly alert.

"But why would he leave the mountain?" asked Thranduil.

"I don't know," said the prince. "But he burned most of Laketown, and was slain by a man named Bard the Bowman."

"A man slew a dragon?" asked Thranduil in disbelief. "But how?"

"There was a scale missing on Smaug's hide," said Legolas, "and Bard knew it. He shot him with his arrow."

"The dragon is dead…" said Thranduil, sitting back in his throne.

"He fell upon Laketown when he died," said Tauriel grimly. "And now there's nothing left of it."

"The people of Laketown have gone back to the ruins of Dale," said Legolas.

"But winter is already here," said Thranduil. "What will they do? How will they live?"

"They've nowhere else to go," said the prince.

Thranduil fell silent for a long moment of thought.

"What do you know about this Bard the Bowman?" he asked Legolas.

"He's descended from Lord Girion of Dale," said Legolas.

"He's the rightful king of Dale, then?" said Thranduil.

"I believe so," said Legolas, and then, producing a letter from his cloak, he brought it to his father as he said: "He sent this for you."

Thranduil opened the letter and read it. There was a general shifting among the guards during the silence, and Legolas shared a glance with Tauriel.

"He has requested our assistance," said Thranduil. "And has offered to share the treasure of the Lonely Mountain with our people."

"But what of the dwarves?" asked Nallon.

"With Smaug awoken, could they have survived?" asked Dregnir.

"We did not see them," said Legolas, "Though that doesn't mean they're dead."

"We have plenty from the harvest to share with the men of Dale," said Nallon.

"And the treasure would be a great boon to our kingdom," said Dregnir.

Thranduir, the isolationist, considered for a long while.

"We will go," he said at last.

It wasn't long before I found myself on the road to the Lonely Mountain, the lone recorder in a lengthy line of woodland archers, wagons of provisions, the king, and his son. Legolas was sparse during the journey through the east of Mirkwood, and I assumed he was off scouting for spiders. We never encountered any, so he must have done his job well. It was probably the case that there were less spiders on this side of the forest, too, because the forest felt lighter, warmer, and healthier the further we got from Dol Guldur.

I rode upon a white-spotted grey horse which was provided by the woodland elves; my Rivendell horse was too skittish in the forest, and they assured me that the skittishness was too dangerous when being attacked by spiders (although the spiders themselves seemed more of a pressing concern to me).

Thranduil rode upon the largest elk I had ever seen, with antlers of a span beyond my own arms' reach, which type of animal he assured me was native to the forests of Mirkwood on the eastern side. True to his word, we spotted them here and there in dales and clearings, drinking from the waters of streams. I found it delightful that his steed would be a native to his lands, and his elk was quite docile under his care.

Though I had the luxury of enjoying our trip through the forest towards the Lonely Mountain, since none of the strife nor politic was my personal responsibility, I could tell Thranduil was occupied by it.

The forest had begun opening to hills and small valleys and the road opened with it. The grasses were golden from autumn, and we were blessed with a warm spell.

"You seem distracted," I said, spurring my horse to ride beside the king. He wore a simple silver circlet in lieu of his crown, and his clothing was more muted, today. His eyes were on the road ahead.

"Do I?" he asked, and then glanced askance at me with some amusement. "A man has slain a dragon with a single arrow. The dwarves may all be dead. An entire people have overnight become refugees in Dale. There's a ridiculous amount of treasure to contend with."

"The dragon Smaug is dead, which is the best outcome for a dragon, and I suppose that treasure should take care of the men of Dale, don't you think?" I said. "As for the dwarves, we can hope for the best."

"I have a feeling it's going to be more complicated than that," said Thranduil as we mounted a rise which at last gave us a view of the Lonely Mountain. We paused at the top to take it in.

Below our rise, grassy plains spread down to a distant lake, the one on which Laketown had been built, and even from this distance we could see remnants of smoke rising from its ruins. Yet further were the old ruins of Dale, which was once a more polished city. Built of stone and fine work, Dale still had some leftover beauty in its ruin.

But beyond Dale was the real reason for all of this; the Lonely Mountain sat presiding over the plains which surrounded it for hundreds of miles. It rose like a throne built by the earth itself for the dwarven kings. I looked over at Thranduil, and he looked grim.

"We should be there soon, I think," I said as an offering.

"Yes, I suppose we will," he replied.

I realized I wasn't going to get much conversation out of Thranduil until after some pressing matters had been resolved.

Eventually, we passed the remnants of Laketown, and the smoking carcass of the great Smaug. I was taken aback by the enormity of the beast and couldn't stop staring at it as we passed.

"Are you well, Lady Eren?" the king asked me. I realized I had slowed my horse in my gazing at the dead dragon.

"I've just…," I said, "never seen a dragon."

I didn't know how else to put it.

"They're so _big_ ," I said, trying not to imagine it alive and attacking. It horrified me, despite there being no actual danger present. "I am awestruck."

Thranduil remained quiet, and so I looked at him. He had been gazing at Smaug, but when I turned to him he looked at me.

"They are terrible," he simply said, and then he moved on.

I simply _had_ to know his experience with dragons, but I couldn't ask. Not yet. I knew the memories themselves were like dragons to him.

When we arrived at Dale, Bard the Bowman and the people of Laketown were overjoyed to see us. Well, it's possible they were just overjoyed to see the provisions we brought. Thranduil only spent a few moments to ensure everything was being handled properly with the supplies, and immediately called for a meeting between himself, Prince Legolas, Captain Tauriel, and Bard, with myself to record in a hastily erected war tent.

"I don't believe we have met," Bard said to me, politely attempting to ascertain who I was and why I should be there in their meeting.

"She is my scribe, pay no heed," said Thranduil dismissively.

I suppose I was to be anonymous, and I think I liked that better than being introduced. It was simpler.

"Do you know why Smaug left the Lonely Mountain and went on the attack?" asked Thranduil of Bard.

"Not for certain," said Bard, showing a deep anger over the dragon, "but I believe he was probably riled up by the dwarves and hadn't had enough of killing with just the few of them."

"How did you know where to fire your arrow?" asked Thranduil.

"A… bird told me," said Bard, behaving as if it was possible Thranduil wouldn't believe such a thing. "A thrush."

"I see you truly are descended from the kings of Dale," said Thranduil. "They did have that rare ability to speak to thrushes."

"Now that Smaug is gone," said Bard, "it's time for us to rebuild the kingdom of Dale, and in goodwill we would like to offer your share of the dragon's treasure."

"I only care to know what has become of the White Gems of Lasgalen," said Thranduil.

"You shall have them," said Bard, "and more."

"We shall see," said Thranduil, casting a listless glance at the Lonely Mountain. He turned to Legolas. "Legolas, take Captain Tauriel and see if you can discover what has become of the dwarves."

"Yes, Father," said Legolas, and he left with Tauriel.

For some time, I listened to Thranduil and Bard discuss the states of their kingdoms, Bard's brand new one, and Thranduil's excessively ancient one. I noticed that Thranduil never counseled Bard once unless the man asked for it, despite Thranduil having so many thousands of years of experience with ruling. I suppose no one likes to listen to an insufferable know-it-all, so he was avoiding being one.

It was interesting, the idea of dealing with men. Men were so transitory, so short-lived, that it wasn't like one dealt with men, instead one dealt with _lines_ of men. For example, Thranduil had made it his business to know the old kings of Dale, and thus, to some degree, he already knew Bard through the traits he inherited from his lineage. In the passing down of life through generations could men touch immortality, but they couldn't do it alone.

In a brief time, Legolas and Tauriel returned. As Legolas arrived, it was almost as if he didn't know how to report.

"They're alive," he finally said.

"Oh?" asked Thranduil.

"How?" asked Bard as well.

"I'm not sure," said Legolas. "Because they won't talk to me. They will only talk to the two of you.

Thranduil and Bard glanced at each other.

"And they've barricaded themselves in," added Legolas.

Both Thranduil and Bard looked pained, though to different degrees.

"I'll go gather my army, and will meet you at the gates to the Lonely Mountain, King Thranduil," said Bard, and he left.

"Do the same," said Thranduil to Legolas and Tauriel. "Gather the elves and we will present a front at the gates and reason with Thorin."

Tauriel left at once, but Legolas halted.

"I'm not sure if you're going to get anywhere with reason," said Legolas.

"Why?" asked Thranduil, as if he might have already suspected why.

"Thorin is… belligerent," said Legolas.

"I see," said Thranduil, and then after a moment: "Well, we must try, regardless."

After Legolas left, Thranduil turned to me.

"You're coming," he said. "Get your horse."

-ooOOoo—

It was only a short amount of time before I found myself astride my horse, attempting to scribe the bickering between dwarves and men and elves at the grand gates of the Lonely Mountain. I was quickly discovering that the occupation of scribing for King Thranduil was going to require that I figure out how to scribe in _many_ different circumstances, including while sitting on a horse. I'd picked up a charcoal somewhere, and that was better than trying to balance an inkpot on my steed's head, despite the charcoal's tendency to smear. I just had to be careful with it until I could recopy it in a more permanent state.

Scribing logistics aside, the dwarf king's behavior seemed odd. I'll admit he was distrustful of Thranduil before, but now he was just paranoid. Perhaps that is what happens to people who suddenly come upon a great fortune. Regardless, Thorin sent the Elf King and Bard the Bowman away empty-handed.

Back in Dale, Thranduil brooded in his war tent as Bard left to tend to his people and Legolas and Tauriel went scouting. I started the work of inking the notes I had made over the charcoal.

For some time there was only the sound of my pen upon the parchment, the rustle of papers, the distant din of people, an occasional sound of armor clink. A cooler breeze flowed into the tent, biting the warmth we had enjoyed.

"I cannot imagine that the madness of the Mountain has taken him already," said Thranduil of a sudden, breaking the silence. I turned to look at him, and he glanced at me, so I supposed he wanted to talk.

"Has it?" I asked. "He did seem odd."

"I didn't take him to be so weak," said Thranduil, but not angrily, nor bitterly, but only sorrowfully. "It is clear the people of Dale are desperate for help, and Thorin wouldn't give a single piece of gold. It is unlike someone who has long been a refugee to treat other refugees so. How could he forget so quickly?"

Thranduil trailed off into his thoughts.

"There must be magic at work," I said. "Surely this is not truly Thorin."

He glanced at me as if he hoped that were true.

At that moment, Legolas entered the tent.

"Father," he said. "Gandalf the Grey is here."

"Oh?" said Thranduil, and he seemed to brighten a little, as if it intrigued him. I myself didn't know Gandalf very well, he would come to Rivendell once in a while, but always seemed very unassuming and a little funny. "Send him in."

Gandalf walked in with an air of urgency about him, and behind him came a hobbit, which creature I only knew of from books. The hobbit looked as if he felt very out of place, and he was probably right.

"Your Majesty," greeted Gandalf, and Thranduil stood.

"Gandalf," greeted the Elvenking. "What brings you to the Lonely Mountain?"

"I've come to let you know there's an army of orcs and wargs on their way here to claim the treasure under the mountain," said Gandalf, looking grim. "They heard that Smaug had left and been defeated, leaving a vast treasure for the taking. Is it true?"

"It is," said Thranduil. "And that treasure is being guarded by a dozen dwarves, I believe."

"Is that all?" laughed Gandalf.

"And they'll not share a single speck of it," said Thranduil.

"What does the Elvenking want with dwarven treasure?" asked Gandalf.

"I only want what is mine," said Thranduil curtly. "And for the men of Laketown to have recompense for their destroyed city."

"I suppose that's fair," said Gandalf. "What does Thorin say about it?"

"He says we are thieves," said Thranduil. "Desiring to make off with that which is not ours."

"Strange behavior for Thorin, isn't it?" asked Gandalf.

"But I suppose we'll have to deal with the orcs and the wargs before we deal with Thorin," said Thranduil, glancing at Legolas.

"Um," said the hobbit, who had been forgotten up until this point.

"Ah yes," said Gandalf. "This is Bilbo Baggins of the Shire."

Bilbo's vestcoat looked to have been once a very bright shade of green, but had faded with whatever adventuring he'd been through to get here. His hand was in his vestcoat, and he bowed to Thranduil.

"Your Majesty," he said. "I might have something of value in your parley with Thorin."

At that moment, that very simple-looking hobbit pulled from his vest what only could have been the Arkenstone. I believe we all gasped to some degree or other. It was beautiful, as if stars without end danced within its depths, as if within it were held infinite worlds and not simply the space it inhabited, but depth within space, somehow multiplying itself against all reason, and filled with a thousand radiant shades of blue and pink and red and lavender and silver. I don't know how long it was before any of us spoke, for we were so taken by the beauty of this gem, and the strangeness that it should be here under these circumstances.

"Hobbits make wonderful burglars, you know," said Gandalf with a chuckle, as if none of this was particularly odd, but just amusing. Bilbo appeared discomfited by being labeled a 'burglar'.

Thranduil seemed instantly energized by the appearance of the Arkenstone.

"Call Bard," Thranduil said to Legolas, and his son left immediately.

-ooOOoo—

In a flurry of activity, Thranduil and Bard assembled their armies at the gates of the Lonely Mountain and called for Thorin, and revealed the Arkenstone. Even through the gates, I could see that Thorin was livid. I could understand why, to a degree.

"I was only taking my thirteenth part," said the hobbit, unassumingly.

"Bah!" replied Thorin. "I did not tell you that was your part!"

"Thorin Oakenshield," said Gandalf, dismissing petty arguments. "There is an army of orcs, and an army of wargs who have heard of your treasure and are coming to take it. What will you do now?"

"We will fight them off!" said Thorin.

"With twelve of you?" asked Thranduil.

Oh, he was indeed mad.

"No, with many more!" said Thorin. "My cousin Dain is on his way with an army of dwarves!"

Maybe not _too_ mad.

Thranduil and Bard shared a glance.

"Then you'll see who can truly fight a war for treasure!" called Thorin.

"Does he mean to fight all of us with that army?" asked Bard.

"He can't," said Thranduil. "He'll be destroyed."

Thranduil looked at Gandalf.

"Yes," said Gandalf. "I know."

The wizard looked as if he didn't know how _he_ was expected to do anything about it.

"Thorin!" called Thranduil. "We will need to fight the orcs and wargs together."

"Fight with you?" asked Thorin. "Never!"

"But you must," said Thranduil. "If we fight separately, we might all perish. All this will have never mattered, and you will lose your inheritance."

Thorin fell silent, as some of the Elvenking's reasoning began to enlighten his clouded mind. Or maybe it was just because Thranduil brought up the gold again, and the possibility of Thorin losing it.

"Fine," said Thorin at last. "But none of you set foot inside the Lonely Mountain."

Thranduil looked as if he was trying very hard not to roll his eyes.

-ooOOoo—

My father would be very _very_ upset if he knew the battle to which I was a witness, and occasionally endangered by, over the course of the next few days. This wasn't supposed to be part of my occupation, but eventually, then things got bad enough, I was sent away from the Elvenking to help those in Dale who were moving to safer ground: the women, the children, the elderly, the infirm. At that point, I would just have to remember and write down what I could recall. That's the best anyone can do when in the middle of a battle of five armies.

The moment the orcs appeared was when Thranduil sent me away.

"Go to Dale," he said.

"Oh," said I, attempting to stuff my scribing materials away and keep hold of my horse's reigns.

"Find where the women and children are going and help them," he ordered.

I finished putting my things away and looked up at him. Then I glanced at the distant orcs and looked back at him. He gave me a grim look.

I turned my horse and rode towards Dale as fast as I could, feeling something unfamiliar to me at the time, but what I later discerned was worry.

By the time I arrived in Dale, the battle clashed in the distance and I wondered if Thranduil would remain unharmed.

Dale was a chaotic scene of whatever men were left working to set up a defense if the orcs or wargs should break through, and the rest of the non-combative people gathering supplies and the infirm towards a higher, safer place. I gave my horse to someone who could use it better than I, and began helping a group up a winding stone stairway, gathering supplies along the way. It was slow work, and as we crossed a high walkway, I could see over it that the battle had reached the outer edges of Dale's ruins, and, across the bridge, I saw Thranduil upon his elk and that he had not fallen. He galloped along the bridge, destroying orcs as he went, but as he crossed into the outer courtyard, I watched in horror as his elk was cut down from beneath him.

"Thranduil!" I cried, though it was impossible for my cry to be heard from this distance or above the battle's fray, and it was well because I had, without thought, called him by name, only his name. I didn't notice it at the time, I only wanted to scream because he was surrounded by orcs and wargs.

Then he drew his sword and began to move. I had not seen war before, but on this day, I had seen many men, elves, dwarves, and orcs fight, and the Elvenking fought like none of them. He moved as if never stopping, but with economy; graceful, subtle, deadly. How many wars had he fought? How much war had he lived through? How much skill had he honed to live through those wars? Again, I marveled at what I didn't know about Thranduil as he cut through everyone who opposed him in the courtyard. The assailants began to flee his presence, for there was no breaching his method. In time, reinforcements came to Thranduil's defense, and I remembered to breathe again.

My breath was a white puff of warm air, hanging on the crisp weather, and snowflakes began to trickle in my view. I recalled my charge, and I turned to those I was supposed to be helping, feeling guilt for being so caught up in my own worries that I'd forgotten about them. An old woman seemed to sense my discomfort and gave me an encouraging smile.

"Your Elvenking made it," she said.

I almost laughed as she said it, due to the intensity of the situation, but I realized at that time that my cheek was wet, and I'd been _crying_. I touched the wetness of my face, and found myself looking at it, not understanding how it got there. But my hand was shaking. Someone took my arm, gently, reassuringly, and the old woman led me on. Now they were helping _me._

As I stumbled up the steps I knew I hated war. I hated it, I hated it, and I couldn't stop tears from falling.

-ooOOoo—

In the aftermath, it was learned that Thorin and his two nephews had died in the war, which was a terrible tragedy considering it was fought for their right to rule as King under the Mountain. Thorin's cousin took the throne, but not happily. He didn't seem like he really wanted it, except out of a sense of duty and honor to his fallen kin. Maybe, because of that, I wondered if Dain would be a good ruler of the Lonely Mountain.

The people of Dale did end up being taken care of, with a portion of the treasure being given for their support in rebuilding their lives. Bard seemed grateful, if tired, when I saw him last, and a bit miserable from the distress of fighting an awful war.

The orcs and the wargs were fought off, and those that weren't killed were scattered and driven into the wilderness.

As we began the journey home, Thranduil was quiet and brooding. He'd gotten the gems he came for, but he didn't seem any happier for it. In fact, he seemed more miserable than anyone. I left him alone and beat my own silent path behind him in the falling snow of early winter. There had been woodelf lives lost, as there must be in wars, but that didn't make it sear any less. I could almost see it burn into Thranduil as he rode a plain horse home. His elk was gone, too.

The silence of impending winter matched all our moods.

-ooOOoo-


	6. Entry Six: The Necromancer

_**A/N: I did a little research for this one, but Tolkein's lore is a rabbit hole! I did the best I could, and I think it's somewhat accurate. Thanks for reading/reviews/following!**_

 _To Mr. T. Brown_

 _Wiltshire, The Green Wood, Rhovanion_

 _Dear Cousin,_

 _I'm afraid that it is no longer within my power to "call off" the surveyors and archaeologists that are currently populating your hillside with historical curiosity, for this is a cause greater than just a hillside for grazing; this is irreplaceable history and my associates will not let it go. We must dig it up, and I am sorry for any trouble it causes you. I'm also afraid that if you set any animals after my students, I will have to send guards from Gondor to keep your animals in line._

 _Best Wishes Always,_

 _Mr. B. Surrey_

 _Academiae Hall, Old Minas Tirith, Gondor_

 _-ooOOoo—_

Entry Six:

Despite the war and the mourning that came with a war being fought, the sylvan elves of the Greenwood still prepared for the winter's feast. It was traditional that this feast was their favorite, since the starlight was brightest and clearest in winter, but due to the lives lost in the war, it was a more somber affair than usual, and quite a bit more somber than the merry autumn feast that now seemed so distant.

The snow had been swept from the large area around which the banquet tables were set, and the tables were laden with a winter feast, evergreenery, flickering white candles, and red and purple berries. We feasted, I suppose, and talked, and I sat again between Legolas and Golwendir, but it was strangely quiet for a feast.

Thranduil's crown had changed, it was now entwined with holly leaves and berries, and mistletoe, and he wore white and silver over an underrobe of palest blue. I wore blue trimmed with the warmth of silver-white fur, and it struck me that we were matched. As he caught me studying his embroidery, he gave me a smile, small and confidential.

I hadn't seen him much since we'd returned from the war. He didn't hold court for some time as things were dealt with that were more immediate, like having the woodland army relieved and reassigned, dealing with supplies, and dealing with burials. His officers did most of that work, and he kept to his study, or wandered the forest, or went elsewhere to places of which I did not know. It seemed he needed time to relieve whatever pressure he had been keeping in.

Tonight, he appeared less burdened, if still sobered. I returned his smile with my own small one.

"Lady Eren," said Golwendir from the other side of me, and I turned. "How much longer with you be staying with us?"

"Ah," I said, thinking. "I suppose my time here is nearly spent."

I hadn't realized the time had flown so quickly. I believed, at first, I would only be here a few months, and it had already been five. I found it pained me to think I would leave so soon.

"It can't be," said Golwendir, unapproving. "But you've only just arrived."

"It does seem that way, doesn't it?" I replied, feeling wry. "Yet so much has happened."

"Indeed," Golwendir replied. "More than is usual for the Woodland Realm, to be honest."

"Then I suppose I came at the right time," I said with a smile, which Golwendir returned.

A hand touched mine on the other side, taking my hand into its grasp, and I turned to see Thranduil had risen and come behind my chair. I looked up at him.

"Your Majesty?" I inquired.

He pulled gently on my hand until I rose from my chair and moved to walk beside him, still inquiring with my look. As we walked around the banquet tables, he spoke.

"Will you dance with me?" he asked.

"Y-yes," I said, the word sounding almost like a question, since the occasion seemed too somber for a dance.

"A promenade," he said to the musicians as we passed them, and they nodded, beginning a song slow of tempo but ponderous, the kind that made one think, and consider meanings.

"I don't think Legolas taught me this one," I mentioned as he lifted my hand and led me into the center ground. Equally as alarming as not knowing the dance was the realization that he and I would be the only elves dancing, for the other elves were of no mind to dance, but only to watch us. Perhaps they would only watch Thranduil, because I didn't know at all what I was going to do. Perhaps this was something the woodland elves did to mourn. Perhaps I didn't know much at all about this culture, and was only beginning to scratch the surface.

"I'll guide you," he said. "Follow me."

He led me to walk beside him in measured steps, and I suppose it was my upbringing that allowed me to do it with a straight face, and with dignity, and as if this was a normal thing to do. Occasionally he would turn me, occasionally he would take my other hand, and sometimes face me and fix me with a sober gaze which spoke of duty and burden and honor. I eventually figured out what it was we were doing, well, what _he_ was doing, and I was merely an accessory. He was reinforcing the strength of his kingdom in a physical, tangible, visual way for his subjects, and he was reassuring them that nothing had changed, and that the power of their kingdom would continue long after this war had passed. He did this through his temperate dance, and I grew to realize how fitting it was for his realm.

I did my best, and it was enough. The promenade subsided and so did we from the dance clearing, and the banqueting elves began to mill quietly among themselves as I walked beside Thranduil beneath the bare trees that once held brilliant red leaves a few months ago. I looked up through the branches, which scratched in all directions, and saw stars; shining white, with the occasional yellow, orange, and pink, like diamonds on velvet. Thranduil looked at me inquiringly.

I glanced at him.

"Yes?" I asked.

"You sighed," he said.

"Did I?" I asked, not remembering having done such a thing.

"Yes," he said.

"Oh, I…," I began, but stopped, momentarily caught in trying to discern for myself my own behavior. "I suppose it is beautiful."

That wasn't why I must have sighed. He still had my hand in his from the dance, and I squeezed it, just because.

"Lady Eren," he began, but I stopped him.

"Thank you for the dance," I said, moving to pull my hand from his, but he held onto mine.

"Please wait," he said, and I did. I glanced down at our hands. "I've received word from your father."

"Oh?" I asked, curious, but also reminded of a different life, one in Rivendell, so completely alien to this one.

"He has asked me if you are ready to come home," he said.

"I wonder why he didn't ask me?" I mused.

"Most likely he can tell I'm reading your letters," said Thranduil. "And assumed he might as well go directly to me instead of roundabout."

Back to this unpleasantness about Thranduil vetting my letters. I pulled my hand to free it from his, and he let it go without resistance this time, and I looked away. Thranduil merely waited until I spoke.

"What did you tell him?" I asked, finding myself folding my arms against the cold that I was only just beginning to notice.

"Nothing yet, of course," he said. "That isn't my decision to make."

"Do you want me to go?" I asked.

"No," he replied, and then, after a moment: "Do you want to go?"

"No," I said finally, but I felt strangely shy about meeting his gaze. Eventually I did, and I found he was smiling a little.

"What would you like me to tell him?" he asked.

I cleared my throat as I thought.

"I'll tell him," I said. "I'll have the letter on your desk by the morning."

He didn't respond immediately, and so I glanced up at him to see he appeared to be conflicted.

"Is that acceptable?" I asked, trying to perceive the cause of his conflict.

He drew a breath to speak, and then, lifting his chin, said this:

"I believe it is time to begin practicing trust in you and what you may decide to share with your father," he said.

My eyes widened at that. The isolationist was going to trust me to write whatever I would to my father?

"You'll no longer read my letters?" I asked.

"I believe there is no longer a need to do so," he replied.

"Do you trust me?" I asked, sideways, wondering if this might be another test.

"No," said he, with a smile.

I laughed.

"But yes," he said, more serious. "I… do."

"You say that as if your trust is partial," I pried.

"It is," he replied with honesty.

"I suppose that's fair," said I.

"Don't, eh, do anything …" he began, but trailed off in the consideration of how to put what he was trying to say. But I knew what he was trying to say.

"Are you asking me to keep your secrets?" I asked.

"Perhaps," he finished.

"Are you having second thoughts?" I asked, considering his hesitant air.

"Always," he replied with a wry face.

I smiled at him and took his hand.

"Thank you," I said, meaning it. "I have been glad to be here, and I will always consider our friendship and my fondness for your kingdom when writing to my father."

"Very good, it shall work out best for both of us," he said, turning to gaze down the path towards the banquet. "For your letters are long and dull."

"Long and dull!" I protested, trying to pull my hand out of his in protest, but he held fast, a mischievous smile on his face.

"Come along, Lady Eren, we must rejoin the feast," he said, behaving as if everything was perfectly normal and he hadn't just insulted my writing. He guided me 'nobly' along the path, mostly ignoring my spiteful glances.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," I said (not without condescension) as Thranduil deposited me pleasantly between Legolas and Golwendir at the banquet table. He murmured some sort of assent, and went to his own place, seeming to be completely satisfied with our previous conversation.

"You made an excellent foil for my father in the dance," said Legolas.

"I would have preferred to know the dance before performing it," I said with a small laugh.

"It helps them," said Legolas, glancing over the elves surrounding the grounds. "To see their king promenade, and he certainly couldn't have done it alone."

I smiled at Legolas.

"Well, I suppose I'm glad to have been of service," I said, hoping not to sound too silly by saying it.

Legolas leaned in.

"To be honest," he said to me in confidence, "I think you also help _him_."

I glanced over Legolas' shoulder to Thranduil, who was in conversation with his counselor on his other side. That couldn't possibly be true.

"But Legolas," I protested, "Have you even seen our attempts to have a civil conversation?"

"I've seen much," said Legolas with a secret smile, and I suddenly felt embarrassed, somehow. What did he see that I didn't realize?

Legolas stood and held out his hand to me.

"Come with me," he said.

I noticed Thranduil glance after us as we left for the woods.

Legolas and I found a hollow log of dry, grey wood which made a fine bench away from the din of the feast, and upon settling ourselves upon it, he pointed at a winter robin, awake at night, in a nearby tree.

"Keep whatever you hear to yourself," Legolas said to the robin, as if warning.

"Pehp!" said the robin in high-pitched reply.

"No going to Bard of Dale and spreading gossip," said Legolas with a stern look.

The robin fluttered its wings as if affronted that Legolas would suspect him of such bad behavior.

"Prince Legolas," I said, "How could you suspect this robin would do such a thing? He is clearly a robin of the highest moral standards."

"Pehp, pep!" said the robin, enthusiastically.

"Have I been mistaken?" asked Legolas.

"I believe so," I said gravely, and then I asked the robin: "Would you warn us of spies if one comes while we talk?"

The robin chirped agreeably, flapped its wings and rose into the air, circling once, and then moved off into the forest, apparently to keep watch over its new wards: us.

Legolas laughed quietly beside me.

"Do you talk to birds often?" I asked with a smile.

"Only when I suspect them of spying on me," he replied.

"Isn't that almost always?" I said.

"They are nosy creatures, to be sure," said he.

"But harmless," I said.

"Unless they talk to the wrong person," said Legolas.

"You are right, my prince," I acquiesced.

"Lady Eren," he said, changing tack, "I want to bring up the subject of my father."

"Do you?" I asked, trying to maintain my casual air.

"He's not been the same since my mother died," he said, clearly jumping right into it. "Her death was hard on him, though he tried to keep it from me, but there's an emptiness, or an imbalance that overtook him in her absence."

"I… can understand that," I said, thinking of my own father, though he may not have suffered as greatly as Thranduil. My father, though he certainly struggled with the death of my mother, found stability without her, and purpose. "You and I have both lost our mothers, Legolas."

We shared a moment of near-sibling connection, right then, Legolas and me. It wasn't something that had occurred to either of us until that moment, but it was nice, knowing that someone else knew something of your own experience and you didn't have to explain it to them; they already knew.

I took his arm and we sat comfortably for a long moment, considering our dual-purpose. Legolas was the first to speak again.

"I've watched how your presence balances him," said Legolas. "He is more like how I remember him being… before."

"Oh," said I, not knowing how to reply.

"He is lighter," said Legolas.

"Lighter," I said, pondering it.

"As opposed to heavier," said Legolas, giving me a sideways smile as if he were gently mocking my density. I laughed at him and pushed his shoulder with mine. "I suppose what I'm saying is that I'm glad you're here, both for my sake because I simply _like you_ , but more for his."

I looked at Legolas, wondering what I was to do with his information, and if I was to be responsible for balancing the king, but then the robin flew in, chirping and tweeting, and circling us into a startled state.

"Oh dear," I said. "We must have a spy!"

Legolas stood at once, reaching for a bow that wasn't there, but the spy emerged, and it was Thranduil, who had come through the trees to find us.

The robin landed on my shoulder and chirped accusingly at Thranduil.

"Traitor," said the Elvenking to the robin.

"But I find him very loyal," I said, defending the robin.

Thranduil approached me, regarding the robin intently.

"In whose kingdom do you reside?" Thranduil asked the robin directly.

The robin seemed to evade Thranduil's gaze, and pretended to be nesting on my shoulder.

"I require loyalty from all of my subjects," said Thranduil, undeterred. "Every one."

"Come now, Your Majesty," I said. "He's only a bird."

I petted the robin's head lightly with a finger, then glanced at Legolas, who looked highly amused.

"'Only a bird' indirectly defeated the mighty Smaug," said Thranduil, peering at the robin. "By telling Bard the Bowman about the dragon's weakness."

"I suppose those are large shoes to fill," I told the robin. "But I'm sure if we have any dragons, you can help us defeat them, too."

"Pehp!" said the robin, and it flew away, possibly terrified of having to fight dragons.

"Oh, look, you've scared the pitiful thing," I said, watching the robin go through the trees.

"I don't believe it was I who did the scaring," said Thranduil, eyeing me.

"You came to find us, Father?" asked Legolas, politely inquiring after Thranduil's unexpected appearance.

"I suppose I have," he said, glancing at us both. "Shall we return to the feast?"

This was his polite way of telling us to go back to the feast and stop dilly-dallying around in the woods alone. I suppose on further reflection it might have looked somewhat questionable, and a tinge of embarrassment struck me.

"Of course, sire," I said, brushing down my skirts neatly and heading immediately towards the feast without waiting for either of them.

I sat down beside Golwendir with a sigh.

"Lady Eren, are you well?" he inquired.

I smiled at him.

"Quite well, thank you," I replied, lying, but not. It was a while before Thranduil and Legolas returned to the feast, and I found myself wondering what they had to discuss in my absence.

-ooOOoo—

A few days later, Thranduil summoned me to his office.

"Good morning," I said, and he seemed pleased with my entrance.

I closed the door behind me out of habit.

"Please, sit down," he offered, and I did. "Have you sent word to your father?"

I nodded.

"The morning after the feast, actually," I said with a smile.

"You work fast, don't you," he replied.

I glanced down at my hands.

"How long did you say you would stay?" he asked.

"At least a year from my arrival," I replied.

"Good," he said, and then after a brief hesitation: "Did you mention the war?"

"Not yet," I said, "though it will need mentioning eventually, don't you think? He'll have to hear of it from somewhere."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," he said. "He doesn't know the details, and he can't possibly understand the reasoning."

"I suppose not," I said. "At least, not without a lot of explaining."

He glanced over me as he seemed to have something on his mind, but wasn't sure how to breach it.

"Lady Eren," he began.

"Yes?" I asked too quickly.

"I… have noticed that you seem to get on well with Legolas," he said.

"Yes, I am very fond of the prince," I replied, but wondering where this was going. "He has been more than kind to me since we met."

"Indeed, and he is also fond of you," said Thranduil.

 _Oh, no._ Was this going where she thought this was going?

"Is that so, sire?" I asked, lacing my fingers together in an act of anxiety. Thranduil was watching me very carefully, which only served to make me more nervous.

"One might say that the son of the Elvenking and the daughter of Lord Elrond would make a fine match," said Thranduil.

"One might say that, I suppose," I said, evading. I didn't think of Legolas in such a way, and I knew his interest lay elsewhere, but that didn't make this conversation any less horrible and difficult. Would I offend Thranduil if I should reject his son? Why was Thranduil even attempting such a match so quickly? It seemed as if Legolas and I hardly knew each other, but perhaps Thranduil believed there was more there than there really was.

"But what would _you_ say?" inquired Thranduil.

I cleared my throat to buy myself thinking time. Oh, _how_ to reply.

"I would say that Legolas, despite his many wonderful qualities, does not seem ready for such a commitment in his life," I said. "And neither am I, though wonderful qualities may not be included."

Thranduil leaned back in his chair, considering my response. He didn't seem disappointed. He seemed as if he had been testing me.

"I am inclined to agree with you," he said, with a nod.

"About which part?" I asked.

"All of it," he said.

"Well, I would think I have at least a _few_ wonderful qualities," I said.

He laughed, surprised at what I'd said. I had to smile.

"You do," he relented. "A few."

"What are they?" I asked, demanding compliments.

He was quick to suspect my game.

"I'll never tell," he said.

"Hoarder," I called him. "Hoarder of praise."

"I'll not share any of it," he said.

"The Smaug of compliments," I said, embittered, but not.

"Exactly," he agreed.

"But what is your weak spot?" I asked.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he replied.

"Where has that robin gone?" I wondered, glancing around.

"Traitors, all of you," said the Elvenking, deflated.

"You strike me as the sort of king to feel more comfortable keeping your enemies close, where you can keep an eye on them," I said.

"It's worked so far," he said to me, smiling. "Now we must make the most of the rest of this year."

"You've not much longer to subdue my subterfuge," I mentioned.

"I'm doing well enough so far," he said, smug.

"That's exactly what I want you to think," I said with a secret smile.

He laughed again, and I couldn't help but do the same.

A knock came at the door.

"Come in," said Thranduil, attempting to recapture dignity.

"An urgent letter for you, sire," said a courier, emerging into the room from between two guards, and holding out a folded letter sealed with a pale green seal I recognized. It was the seal of my grandmother, Galadriel. I was instantly intrigued.

Thranduil took the letter and broke it open, and, upon reading, I watched his face shift from the levity of the previous moment to deadly serious. He finished it, and didn't seem to know what to think, and neither did I, for I was dying to know what it said. His eyes cast from me to the guards, and finally to the courier.

"Go with my guards, they will refresh you, and I will form a response," said Thranduil to the courier, who nodded and left the room.

I waited for him to tell me, hoping that he was going to tell me, and trying to steel myself for not being hurt if he didn't tell me. I had to remember that I was his scribe, not his counselor. Sometimes it didn't seem as simple as that. His eyes moved from the closed door to me, and I waited, and then I saw something I didn't think I would see: his gaze softened upon me.

"While we were at the Lonely Mountain, the White Council took the opportunity to attack Dol Guldur to destroy the Necromancer for good," said Thranduil.

"The Necromancer?" I asked. "That seems… unexpected. Why did the White Council see the Necromancer as a threat in need of destroying?"

"Because Gandalf the Grey discovered who the Necromancer really is," said Thranduil, grave.

I was afraid to ask, and it seemed as if Thranduil also didn't wish to tell me, but I asked anyway.

"Who is he?" I asked.

Thranduil sighed and looked at the letter, then dropped it on his desk.

"He is Sauron," said Thranduil.

"No, he isn't," was my knee-jerk response.

Thranduil just looked at me.

"How could he be?" I asked, feeling vague panic.

Thranduil shifted his weight.

"But I thought he had been defeated," I objected.

"He has not," said Thranduil. "He is why Shelob's spawn thrive nearby, and why orcs and wargs so easily organized an army to fight us at the Lonely Mountain, and why the Nazgul have taken Minas Ithil and made it into Minas Morgul. Gandalf believes he has been searching for the One Ring in Gladden Fields and the Anduin."

"Was he defeated?" I asked.

"No," said Thranduil. "He was only driven out and he fled, south, to Minas Morgul, they believe, where the Nazgul reside."

"Why does he continue to threaten us?" I asked, existentially.

"He will threaten us for as long as the ring exists," said Thranduil.

"Is it possible for him to overpower us?" I asked.

"Only if he has gained more power than we can overcome," said Thranduil.

I sat for a moment in silence to process this information, and Thranduil was silent as well, perhaps also processing. When I spoke again, my voice sounded small in the room.

"Will you go to see Dol Guldur now?" I asked, and he looked at me.

"Why would I do that?" he asked, as if fatigued by the idea.

"Wasn't that where your father had his capital in the old days? At Amon Lanc?" I asked.

"I prefer not to dwell on memories of Dol Guldur and Dagorath," he said, glancing aside.

"Yes, but-," I began.

"Lady Eren," he said, and his voice was strained. "I prefer not to dwell on those memories."

I could see it was bound up in his past, like a great knot that might open an old wound. I wondered if, for as long as that knot was there, the wound was in danger of opening, but the act of untangling it might open it even more, if for the last time.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"It's nothing," he said, smoothing out the letter before him on the desk. "Now would you like to take down a letter for me to your grandmother?"

"Yes," I said, moving into action to gather my scribing supplies. I went to take a book from a shelf to bear down on when Thranduil stood up. I glanced at him.

"You may use my desk to write," he said, moving aside.

I blinked at him, then glanced at the desk, and then looked back at him. He completely ignored me and moved into the middle of the room to compose himself to dictate a letter, so I sat upon his chair, which was warm, and arranged my supplies on the desk. What is it about being denied something for so long that makes it all the sweeter once you have it? I certainly liked sitting at Thranduil's desk, in fact I was _pleased._ He glanced at me to see if I was ready, and I was, but he stopped for a moment, and lingered, seeming fixed. I smiled at him, and he took in my smile; he seemed to absorb it, and then he smiled back, a small thing.

"I'm ready," I said.

-ooOOoo-


	7. Entry Seven: Winter

_To Mr. B. Surrey_

 _Academiae Hall, Old Minis Tirith, Gondor_

 _Dear Cousin,_

 _This ends now. It is not acceptable for you scholarly- and city-types to push us rurals around like we don't know any better. We most certainly know better, because our farming is what feeds you and makes it possible for you to lounge your days around studying the useless past. That you behave as if what I do isn't important just goes to show how disconnected you are from reality. My neighbors aren't happy, either, and we plan to remove all your scholars from my hillside in a fortnight. You have been warned._

 _Best Wishes,_

 _Mr. T. Brown_

 _Wiltshire, The Green Wood, Rhovanion_

-ooOOoo—

Entry Seven:

One winter evening, Thranduil and I sat in his office discussing Dol Guldur. A warm fire crackled in the fireplace, and it cast a shifting yellow glow across us as we sat in two adjoining chairs nearby. The room was lit with a few candles otherwise, but was not very bright. It was one of those late winter evenings where life was still in hibernation.

"Have the spiders lessened since Sauron was cast out?" I asked.

"They haven't," said Thranduil, seeming puzzled as to why. "They continue the same as before… perhaps even more."

I sat for a moment to consider that. It wasn't good news.

"How can that be?" I wondered, perhaps to myself.

"I don't know," said Thranduil. "Perhaps… perhaps there is something else there at Dol Guldur which allows them to continue to spawn."

I glanced at Thranduil.

"Wouldn't it be nice if someone were to, I don't know, _go take a look?_ " I asked.

Thranduil gave me a very dry glance.

"I've made my stance clear on Dol Guldur," he clipped, as if the conversation was closed. As if it _could_ be closed.

"You have," I said, open-endedly.

He stared at me.

"I think you need to go investigate Dol Guldur," I said very quickly, before he could object, or throw me out of the room.

Thranduil groaned and stood up, pacing across the room, and then folding his hands behind his back. There, with his back to me, he paused, and then began to speak:

"Perhaps, Lady Eren," he began. " _Perhaps_ you have a point."

I smiled, especially because he couldn't see me. Of course, I had a point.

"Perhaps it is true that _someone_ needs to go discover what has become of Dol Guldur without Sauron," he said.

He turned to regard me and I dropped my smile before he could see it, and I attempted to look very attentive.

"But I fail to see the point in that person being me," he said.

I opened my mouth to speak and he talked over me before I could begin.

"I will send scouts," he said, firmly. Kingly. Oppressively. With finality. I knew better than to argue any more. "I thank you for your insight," he said, bowing his head slightly.

I studied him, considering and wondering what I could do to unravel the knot which he bore towards Dol Guldur, and if I should even unravel it at all. What would it fix? What would it break?

"Stop that," he said, glancing over me.

"I'm not doing anything," was my aloof response.

He gave me a bored look, and then smiled a little.

"Come," he said, beckoning. "I want to show you something."

He moved toward the back corner of his office, behind the crook of the fireplace, and opened a small door which I had never noticed before.

"Where does that go?" I asked, feeling intrigued by Thranduil suddenly producing a hidden door.

He picked up a fur and handed it to me without explanation, and then took one for himself. I felt cold air coming from the door, but couldn't imagine how it might lead outside.

"Follow me," he said, and he entered the door, which held stairs that climbed up very steeply, carved into the cave rock and paneled with pale, smooth wood.

How long we climbed I knew not, but it seemed to take longer than was normal for a flight of stairs, and more than once there were switchbacks. Eventually, cave gave way to pure wood and we must have been climbing through a massive tree until we reached a break where two huge branches diverged and our path became clear and in the open, but we still climbed. It reminded me, some, of Lothlorien, but it was different. The trees were not golden, but were instead bereft of leaves, and they slept, yet still kept a strong sense of presence, if one could listen. The stairs wound through a tree to its very top, where branches parted ways to relent to the sky its boundary.

Here, in winter, with a clear, crisp sky, the stars mesmerized me. There were _so many of them._ I sighed out, knowing I was sighing, my breath a puff of warmth in the cold air.

It was then that I felt it for the first time; the call across the sea, the call of the Undying Lands. I'd never felt it before, but it was a yearning, a desire to see it, to go, to sail, to go, to go, _I wanted to go away from Middle Earth forever._

I caught myself and my thoughts with a gasp and fell back against a thick branch, thick as the trunk of a normal tree, grasping it with a hand.

"Lady Eren?" asked Thranduil, who I hadn't even noticed since we'd come to the treetops, I'd been so enraptured by the stars. He appeared concerned as he stood a few paces off on a platform, near another thick branch. I took a few moments to focus upon him and come to terms with what I had just felt.

"Are you well?" he asked.

"No," I said before thinking, and then quickly: "Yes."

"No," he said.

"Yes," I said.

"Let us climb," he said, dismissing my elusiveness. He reached out and took my hand, pulling me along towards more branches.

"Climb in the tree?" I asked, surprised out of my previous experience, since climbing trees was not a thing we did in Rivendell.

"What good is one if one cannot climb a tree?" asked Thranduil.

"Is that a rhetorical question?" I asked hopefully as he began to climb. Literally.

"It's not nearly as good out here if you cannot break the treetops," he called from several branches up.

Fine, I decided, there were some days when Thranduil seemed more insane than others, and this was one of those days. Regardless, I did climb, and I must admit that it was rather freeing and pleasant, for it was something I hadn't done for many, many years. There is a certain familiarity that grows between a person and a tree when one climbs it, and the older the tree, the more there is to learn about it. I enjoyed that old, sprawling tree, and as I broke through the treetops beside Thranduil, I was glad I'd done it.

Above the treetops was an expansive sea of more bare treetops, rising and falling in gentle hills until the distant mountains darkened the horizon with black peaks. The sky was deep blue but not black since it was only evening, but the stars shone everywhere, yet were thick in the middle of a hazy line that crossed the heavens in a shimmering diagonal. I felt it again, gentler this time, the longing for the Undying Lands, and I suddenly missed my father and wanted to inquire, yet feared to do so, for this was not yet a yearning that I wanted to accept.

I looked over at Thranduil, bundled in fur against the cold and leaning within the crook of two branches to observe the sky. Could he ever feel the longing to leave Middle Earth? He was Sindar… he would not. Middle Earth was his home, and it would always be. I felt stretched for a moment, pained, yet if I were to measure the contentment of the moment it should have been beyond adequate, in fact wonderful. In a way, it was.

The branch upon which I was perched swayed gently with the torque of the tree combined with the light wind and whatever else might move it, and I could commune with tree and nature and stars. The combination was both meditative and new to me, and I wondered if this was another unique trait of the Woodland Elf culture to which the Elvenking was introducing me. As I watched Thranduil I felt a different longing, one in which I wanted this to be mine, this culture, this experience, this… king.

Yet I could not let go of my Rivendell roots, for to withdraw completely from whence I came would pain me more greatly than I could contemplate. I wanted both, which is a tenuous place to be, for one cannot have both, if both things require all of oneself to have fully. Thus, I determined my current route would be the easiest one, which was to procrastinate deciding anything, or even thinking about anything, and to cast my eyes up at the stars and forget all.

It was nice.

"Lady Eren," said Thranduil's voice, cutting through my filled vision of starlight.

I glanced over at him, and he was leaning back, still watching the sky, seeming in a position of contemplation. I smiled unseen at him.

"Do you have the choice to be mortal or immortal?" he asked.

"I do," I said, leaning back on my own branch, and noticing the sway of the branch on which he leaned.

"Which will you choose?" he asked.

"Which do you think?" I asked.

He shifted his gaze from the sky to me.

"Immortality," he said, and I gave him a little smile, but he watched me and looked troubled.

"Why do you appear bothered by my reply?" I asked.

"Because I am more familiar with immortality than you," he said.

"Then you would have me choose mortality?" I asked.

"I would not," he said, but the troubled look didn't leave him.

There was a long moment where I watched him, and the branches upon which we reclined swayed in the wind. In the distance was an owl call, carried far in the winter silence. More explanation wasn't forthcoming from Thranduil, at least not in the space between us, so I shifted away from my branch and moved to join him on his. He allowed me space and watched me as I came near. Now, we could sway at the same time, and now our furs could intermingle at the edges, and now we could see the stars from nearly the same vantage point, but he still watched me and I looked up at him, and I wondered if he would be able to tell me more, now.

"Despite knowing what immortality can give you," he said, his voice gentle, "there are trials from which I wish you could be spared."

"Why would you want me to be spared those trials?" I asked.

"Because they cause pain," he replied.

"Am I above suffering?" I asked.

He didn't have an answer, but pain crossed his features and he looked away, and gradually his eyes went back to the sky. I kept watching him, though, because the clues which lay in his face fascinated me. After a moment, he spoke.

"I noticed how the war affected you," he said, and then he looked down at me again, though he seemed hesitant to hold my gaze.

"I hated it," I replied honestly. "I hate war."

"Do you know how many wars I have fought?" he asked.

"No," I said. "Tell me."

His lips parted, and he appeared as if he hadn't expected me to ask that, but then he clenched his jaw and looked aside, as if refusing. No, no, I felt as if he couldn't do this, not after all the time he had refused before to give me anything, _anything_ about his past, and before I knew it, I'd reached up to touch his jawline, as if the act of doing so might unravel his refusal. Instead, my touch seemed to startle him, and he pulled back with a small gasp of air, as if it were a reflex, or an instant reaction to something that was, perhaps, entirely foreign to the Elvenking.

We hung suspended for a long moment, his surprised gaze upon me as if trying to discern what I could be or how I had come to be there, and my hand, outstretched, near his face, but not touching. Our branch swayed once, like the gentle roll of the ocean, as I watched to see if he would berate me, or push me off the branch to my doom, or fold. Would he fold?

I moved my hand again, but slowly, slowly enough that he could stop me if he wanted, but he didn't, and instead his lips parted and I noticed his breath was short. I touched his face, and his eyes closed in response.

"Thranduil," I said, so softly it was almost a whisper.

"Eren," he said, as if something had broken.

I didn't even really know what I was doing. I ran my hand along his jawline, along the curve, and he moved with me, and I wondered how long it had been since he'd been touched like this, and how can anyone live that way forever?

He opened his eyes and fixed me with his gaze.

"You win," he said, soft.

"What do I win?" I asked, brushing my thumb across his cheek.

His hand came up over mine, and he clasped it, turning his face to brush his lips against my fingers as he whispered: "What do you want to know?"

I was paralyzed temporarily by the intellectual thrill of knowing he would finally tell me whatever I wanted, and the intimacy of his words spoken where I could _feel_ them. I wanted him to speak again for both reasons, and I couldn't tell which one seemed more urgent in the moment. I opened my mouth to ask something, anything, but I was stuck, breathless in the clench of trying to determine the absolute best question while being agonizingly distracted by his lips, which he kept near my hand, ready to speak, ready to push me further to my doom.

After too long, after I'd come up with nothing, he looked over at me.

"Perhaps I have won, after all," he said, mocking me with a smile.

I made a sound of objection and pulled my hand away.

"No," I said, bundling my fur more tightly around me and glancing aside, even though I wasn't cold at all, and in fact, I suddenly felt quite hot… not that I'd let him know that. "I just found it difficult to decide, because there are so many questions I want to ask."

There was a long moment where I knew he was watching me, and I pretended everything was normal and as if I was merely observing the scenery. I felt him shift on the branch beside me, and then he spoke.

"You can save it," he said. "One question."

I looked at him.

"That way you can have time to deliberate," he said, something of a smile on his face.

"I suppose we can start with one," I said, moving to leave the branch, and beginning to descend.

"This isn't a series of questions," he said from behind me, and I smiled to myself. "I said one."

"Yes, of course," I said as I climbed down to the stair landing near the top of the tree. "Your Majesty."

"That was condescending," he said, following me. "You can spare me your condescension."

It was condescending, that was true.

"But what else would I call you?" I asked, turning to face him as he stepped onto the landing behind me. He paused so briefly someone else might not have noticed, but I knew he recalled my voicing of his name just a few minutes before, and I remembered my name upon his lips and pushed the warmth it gave me down, down, aside, until later. He looked down upon me, he used his height, but I did not allow him to intimidate me, or perhaps I merely wanted him to be there, where he was, with me, over me.

"Perfect?" he suggested, and I blinked.

And then I laughed.

"Oh, no," I said, and turned away from him to go down the wooden stairway.

"I suppose you could also try 'magnificent'," he added from behind me.

"No thank you," I replied, descending into the tree.

"The best Elvenking in the History of Middle Earth," he offered.

"Good-bye," I said as tree gave way to cave.

We both nearly stumbled through the small door as we arrived back in Thranduil's office, and I felt disoriented by the return to such familiar surroundings after such a … what was it that had happened, exactly? I didn't know, and I couldn't define it, but Thranduil seemed as disoriented as me as he closed the door and slid its lock shut. I watched him do this and then felt gratitude for what he had taken the time to show me.

"Thank you," I said. "For showing me the treetops."

He smiled, then glanced at me.

"It's one of my favorite places," he said.

"I'd like to go again," I said. "Sometime."

Thranduil nodded, which I suppose was some sort of noncommittal assent, then reached out to me and touched the fur I was wearing.

"Oh!" I said, startled and remembering it. I removed the fur and gave it to him, and he placed both nearby.

"Well," I said. "Good-night."

"You're leaving, then?" he inquired.

"Yes," I said.

"Good-night," he said.

I smiled and moved toward the door.

"Lady Eren," he said from behind me.

"Yes?" I asked, turning.

He stood there and seemed plain for the first time that I'd known him. Not plain exactly, but without pretense and stripped of masks. He was himself, and vulnerable, yet unaware of his own vulnerability. Without guile. Open. Plain. Perfect.

"Will you dance with me at the spring feast?" he asked.

"Who else would I dance with?" I asked, as if there was no other answer to that question except him.

He gazed at me as if pleased with my answer, but I wondered why he would ask it at all. The spring feast was still weeks away. But still… his gaze was something I found myself relishing at that moment.

"Are you holding court tomorrow?" I asked softly.

"Yes," he replied with equal softness.

"Good," I said, almost too soft to be heard.

He didn't want our gazes to break, I felt it, and I let it stretch between us for as long as I reasonably, and perhaps unreasonably, could.

"Good-night," I whispered at last, and he stayed still, but before I turned to leave I noticed his hand, clenching the edge of his desk, was white-knuckled.

I'd never found it so difficult to walk through a door in my life.

-ooOOoo-


	8. Entry Eight: The Spring Feast

_To Mr. T. Brown_

 _Wiltshire, The Green Wood, Rhovanion_

 _Dear Cousin,_

 _I cannot say I am pleased by your threats, and so I have sent a number of guards from Gondor to protect my students and any history which you might hoard from the world at large._

 _Warmest Regards,_

 _Mr. B. Surrey_

 _Academiae Hall, Old Minas Tirith, Gondor_

-ooOOoo—

Entry Eight:

The next day I found myself feeling anxious in Thranduil's throne room, as I, Golwendir, and Thranduil's three counselors awaited his belated entrance. I didn't know what was going to happen, though I logically knew nothing unusual was going to happen; it was court. Court was normal. It was always normal. It would continue to be normal. Forever. I assured myself repeatedly of these facts. However, Thranduil was unusually late, this day. Hours, really… but I wasn't counting.

"Lady Eren, are you well?" inquired Golwendir from nearby.

I looked up to see mild concern on his face, and I gave him a smile.

"Of course," I said. "Do I seem not well to you?"

"Perhaps you are merely restless," he said.

I considered that.

"Perhaps," I acquiesced.

"Is it anything I can help you with?" he asked.

"No, no," I said, with a small laugh, but desperately trying to think of an excuse. "I am merely anxious to receive a letter from my father today."

Golwendir nodded, accepting my reason, and the throne room doors opened in a burst.

I stared down at my desk and struggled to calm my breathing. It was normal. Everything was normal. At last I looked up to see Thranduil and Legolas approaching the throne. He didn't look at me, but I was momentarily distracted from my anxiety due to wondering why Legolas was there.

Thranduil took his seat in the normal way upon his throne, and his counselors took their places before it. Legolas stood near the mount of the throne, facing his counselors. Golwendir and I were as ignored as the guards which flanked the throne dais.

"Prince Legolas has word of Dol Guldur," announced Thranduil, and then everyone turned their attention to the prince.

"Sauron might have fled Dol Guldur," said Legolas, "but he did not relinquish its control."

"How?" asked Dregnir. "He was cast out, fleeing far to the south."

"We know he does not work alone," said Legolas. "He has his ring wraiths to be where he cannot."

"The Nazgul?" asked Nallon, seeming both nervous as well as disgusted by the existence of said creatures.

"Two Nazgul have been detected at Dol Guldur," said Legolas. "There may be more."

The counselors were silent, and Thranduil appeared tense.

"Regardless, it is enough to keep the fortress fully under Sauron's control," said Legolas.

It seemed as if Thranduil's counselors all began talking at once.

"Your Majesty, we cannot allow Sauron to continue-,"

"Sire, Shelob's spawn has increased since the attack on Dol Guldur-,"

"His power will only continue to grow, there have even been orcs in the wood-,"

"Stop," said Thranduil, and they did. The king gazed at his counselors, and then looked to Legolas. "How strong is Dol Guldur?"

Legolas shifted, and then said: "There is the presence of the Nazgul, first and foremost. Second, there are a number of orcs, wargs, and some trolls, but how many we cannot know from the outside. The walls of Dol Guldur can hide many things. I wonder if the defeated armies at the Lonely Mountain retreated to its stronghold to regroup."

"Is that all?" asked Thranduil.

"There is also the issue of Shelob's offspring spawning in the hollows beneath Dol Guldur, and whatever other hidden darkness we haven't discovered yet," replied Legolas to his father, then he shifted his gaze to the counselors. "It is my assessment that an attack on Dol Guldur would be reckless, and possibly even disastrous for our people."

The counselors all started at once again, and Thranduil put his hand up to silence them.

"We will not move against Dol Guldur at this time," said Thranduil, and his counselors looked more restless than I could have dreamed of being. "However, we will send word to Lothlorien to discuss a possible alliance, if it should become necessary."

They seemed to be somewhat appeased by Thranduil's compromise, and I found myself wondering if it would be necessary for Lothlorien and the Woodland Elves to work together to put down Sauron's threat. Further and further the events I had witnessed this past year were driving Thranduil, step by step, out of his isolationism, and I saw the tension in him grow. He was not at all comfortable with it, but he had no choice otherwise.

The rest of court was, actually, quite normal, and at the end, as Thranduil descended his throne, he touched my desk as he passed by. Almost anyone wouldn't have even noticed, it was so casual, so minute, but I noticed.

The weeks that followed went on much the same. Thranduil and his people grappled with increased attacks from spiders and even orcs within the Mirkwood, but it wasn't excessive; it wasn't more than they could handle. The thought that lurked unspoken in everyone's mind, however, was if or when it would become too much.

I saw Thranduil very little outside of court, because sometimes a king is too busy for lollygagging around one's office in a meandering conversation, but he made it known through his touch and glances that, despite being required to ignore me most of the time, he didn't _want_ to ignore me most of the time. I understood this already. There were things more important than whatever it was we were doing.

Winter gave way to a thaw and suddenly Spring was upon us. I noticed the light in the throne room grew more golden and less blue, and a warmth bled through the halls as the sun returned from its distance.

The return of spring meant the arrival of the Spring Feast, and I was delighted by its coming. Finally, we would have a moment to think about something besides the dread of Sauron, and I would have Thranduil all to my own, at least briefly. I spent more time than I normally did in choosing what I would wear. I felt especially festive this time, and so I had a dress made from a light, floral fabric, with pale pinks and deeper pinks and lavender blue hues. It was held up by thin straps, and then fabric flowed down like loose sleeves, but it left my shoulders bare, and I loved the way it flowed as I turned. I must have arranged my hair ten diverse ways, but I settled upon leaving it loose, with a partial braid, and a flower pinned in. I wondered if I would be cold but dismissed the thought straightaway. Later I would realize how much time I spent trying to look perfect for the feast.

In time I was ready, and I met Legolas to walk to the party.

"You look beautiful, Lady Eren," he said without hesitation.

I smiled at him.

"Thank you," I said, but then turned my attention to the hill which we were climbing. "Do you think this will be a happier feast than the last one?"

"Most definitely," he said.

The stars were out, again, but only partially. The skies were dappled with silvery clouds, brightened by the full moon, which made the feast brighter than any before. Multicolored pastel paper lanterns hung on strings around the feasting grounds, and the trees were riotous with blooming flowers. The tables were laden with gathered flowers and greenery, and it was once again a merry scene.

Legolas led me to where my usual seat was between himself and Golwendir, only to find, to our surprise, my place had been moved to sit on the other side of Thranduil. As I took my new seat, Thranduil, who had been speaking with a visiting dignitary, turned to me and said, "I hope you don't mind."

"I do not," I said, glancing over him, and appreciating the budding flowers and spring-golden leaves in his crown. I grew into a smile and as I returned my gaze to his, and found he was smiling back at me.

"I used my power and influence to make sure I would have a chance to talk with you as much as I wanted tonight," he said, as if telling me a secret.

I laughed.

"It appears you have been corrupted by your power, Your Majesty," I said.

"If that is corruption, then I am guilty," he said.

"Admittance is the first step towards rehabilitation," I mentioned.

"And you," he said, glancing over me once, "look perfect. Are you aware you look perfect?"

"I was not aware of _perfection_ , per se," I said, finding his question a little funny.

"I cannot imagine greater perfection," he said, and I began to feel warm, as if my cheeks were flushed. He must have noticed, because he went on to say: "Don't let me embarrass you, let's enjoy the feast."

We did enjoy the feast, though I found I had the appetite to eat very little, and especially with Thranduil so near. On my other side was Nallon, who I had always found the most mild and slow to judgment of Thranduil's counselors. I suppose I would say he was my favorite, for he never seemed to jump to conclusions, and was generally open-minded, but also cautious. I would choose Nallon as a counselor, were I the king. Or queen, as the case would be.

"I don't believe we've ever had the chance to converse, Lady Eren," said Nallon.

"That's true," I said with a smile. "I'm always too busy writing whenever you're in court."

"The records you have kept of these past months have been immaculate," he said. "I've always meant to tell you. I no longer struggle to find what I'm looking for."

"I'm glad to hear of it," I replied. "I enjoy it, to be honest."

"That's always helpful in one's work," he said.

"I don't think I could work in a more interesting court," I said.

Nallon gave a quiet laugh.

Thranduil touched my hand beneath the table.

"What might you be implying, Lady Eren?" asked the king.

"Well," I said, as I ran my fingers across the back of his hand, covertly, beneath the table, where Nallon couldn't see, "It seems as if your court is in a constant state of varying degrees of upheaval."

"A fair assessment," said Nallon, with humor.

Thranduil's eyes narrowed upon me as he took my hand into his grasp.

"Lady Eren," he said, caressing my hand with his thumb. "My court has only been in a constant state of upheaval since _you_ arrived."

I fought another blush, and mimicked outrage.

"How could he say such a thing?" I asked Nallon.

"He is the king," said Nallon with a shrug.

"And now you must dance with me," commanded the king, moving to rise.

"Oh well," I said, "What can I do but comply?"

Thus, we danced, and danced, and danced, and so did, it seemed, everyone else. It was a beautiful and glorious night and the frivolity and merrymaking of the Woodland Realm was restored, if for a moment. The moon moved across the sky with the passing of night, and I barely noticed how far it moved. In time, the frivolity began to wane, and elves began to disperse, begging off weariness or having their fill of merrymaking for the night. The dancing had begun to ebb, and Thranduil and I stood to catch our breath beneath a tree laden with palest pink blossoms. I think it is safe to say we both did not want the night to end, and we were elongating it further, as far as we could make it go.

We both leaned against the tree and watched the elves around the feast grounds. Some were still dancing, but less and less, and some were still feasting, but even less still. Most were either in the business of saying goodnight to friends or taking in the last vestiges of feast-time with contemplation. I suppose the latter is what Thranduil and I were doing.

"Did you enjoy the feast?" asked Thranduil from beside me. He had to know I did.

"It was terrible," I said, and then was pleased to hear him laugh. I turned to look up at him, and he didn't move away. I liked being near him. We fell into each other's gaze momentarily, and then I sighed, and touched the trim of his robe, running my fingertip along the embroidery. His hand came up to touch mine, but his gaze didn't leave me.

A soft spring breeze fluttered us and the tree, and pale petals fell around us like flurrying snow. Thranduil seemed transfixed in the act of watching them fall upon me, and he reached up to brush one gently from my bare shoulder.

"This," he said softly, brushing a petal from my hair, "is perfection."

I allowed myself to blush as much as I wanted, here, within the confines of only him and me and this tree.

His hand moved into my hair and I closed my eyes.

"The way the pale petals strike against the raven black of your hair… Eren…," he sighed.

"Thranduil," I whispered, opening my eyes to look up at him. He looked lost… did I too?

I reached up to touch his face, and he turned into my hand, grasping it with his hand and pressing a kiss into my palm. I caught my breath at his kiss.

"Thranduil," I said again, but it was barely a whisper, for I don't think I could have gathered enough breath for more, and he kissed inside my wrist. I was caught, my gaze riveted to his mouth, and the breeze, spring, pre-dawn pressed around us, fluttering petals down, down, warm, delicate snow. I wanted to be nearer to him, I felt it deep within my bones.

His grip tightened around my wrist, tightened, tension, and then relaxed. He withdrew, releasing the pressure between us with a sigh, and turning to face out, toward the feast grounds, and to rest his gaze there, as well. I fell back against the tree, more exhausted by our momentary tension than a night full of dancing.

"I cannot behave in such a way in front of my subjects," said Thranduil, as explanation, but also berating himself.

I merely continued to work on regaining normal breathing patterns.

He turned his head aside, as if strained, and looked towards the flowering forest.

"I don't understand what is happening to us," I said.

He turned to look at me, then, contemplative.

"I don't either," he said, sounding lost. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped, and seemed to change his mind.

I gazed up at him, waiting for him to have answers for me.

He looked down upon me, and his gaze softened, and he moved forward to take both of my hands.

"May I walk you home?" he asked.

I smiled and we went. I took his arm as we walked, and we did so mostly in silence, for we both had much to think about, perhaps too much. As we reached my door, he pulled my hand from his arm and then kissed it.

"Is there court tomorrow?" I asked, watching him kiss my hand again.

"No," he replied against the back of my hand.

"Oh," I said, adding a sigh of displeasure. He glanced up at me, so I touched his face.

"We never have court after feasts," he said, something of a smile teasing at his lips.

I leaned forward, close, suddenly close, and I pressed a kiss to his cheek. He held me there.

"I will miss it," I whispered against his skin, and I heard his breath shake. I kissed him again and his hands moved across my back.

"Then perhaps," he whispered, moving to do so in my ear, "since I will be free from court…"

I caught my breath as his lips brushed my ear; I was caught, strung tightly as a wire, and I gripped his robes with both hands.

"We can go into the woods…," he whispered, his lips falling to my neck, my pulse, my agony. "There is so much I… want to show you."

"Thranduil…" I sighed, throwing my arms around his neck, and somehow, we both fell against my door. He pulled back enough to gaze down on me.

He looked over my face as if I were something he wanted to remember and lightly touched the curve of my chin. Then, finally, as if I had waited for it for a hundred years, he kissed me.

His kiss was warm, gentle, tenuous, and though he had me lightly pressed against the door, his hand held my chin as tenderly as if he held a delicate flower. It ended slowly, like the passing of night into dawn, one never knows when one ends and the other begins. In time, however, I found myself gazing up into his eyes with wonder as he caressed my face.

"Now, Eren," he said, as I relished the sound of my name on his tongue, "Good-night."

He moved away, though I missed the warmth of him as soon as we parted from the door.

"Good-night," I whispered, opening my door. He watched me as I entered, and I smiled at him once I was inside. "Thank you."

"It was nothing," he said.

"It wasn't nothing," I argued.

"It was everything," he relented.

"Yes, it was," I agreed.

"Go, before I must kiss you again," he said.

"That doesn't motivate me to leave," I said.

He rushed into my doorframe and kissed me again, stronger this time, and I replied with my own, my arm clenched around his neck.

"Eren," he whispered at the end of it. "Why…"

"Yes, why…," I sighed and kissed him again.

His breath shook as we finished, and then we both heard voices at the end of the hall. In a rush, I pulled him inside and shut the door. I locked it, too, for good measure.

Once the door was shut and locked, Thranduil leaned against my door and tried to catch his breath. I suppose I was doing the same, though I was facing him, and tried to look through a crack in the door to see who could be outside.

"Eren," said Thranduil. "This was not a good idea."

"Isn't it?" I asked. "Would you rather they found us kissing in the hallway?"

"Better than finding me in your room," he said, looking staggered.

"Who is going to find you here?" I asked. "You're the king, you don't have a _curfew_."

"This is how bad rumors get started!" he said.

I took a moment then to observe just how remarkably adorable he looked, having been mussed, kissed, and outraged. I couldn't help a sideways smile from pulling at my lips. He gave me a longsuffering look and went on.

"I have your best interests at heart, Eren," said he. "And this is not a rumor you want on your resume."

After a moment, he added: "Besides, your father would murder me."

"Won't he anyway?" I asked, and he fell into a gaze upon me as we breached the subject of this not being _just a rumor_. Suddenly, I desperately wanted to kiss him, again.

Thranduil looked aside and his face flushed as he said, "I have not been a good steward."

It was an admission of fault and guilt.

"I have, in fact, been a _terrible_ steward," he said. "One might say I have possibly done the worst job imaginable with you."

"Or the best," I offered.

"Not the best!" he rejected, looking at me as if I were the strangest person to ever live.

"I suppose it's all a matter of opinion," I said.

"If one looks at facts, one has one's answer," he replied. "Opinions are useless."

"Do you always turn to self-loathing when in a bind?" I asked.

"Usually," he said.

"I don't approve," I said.

"Disapproval noted," he complied, the siren.

I rushed him against the door and kissed him again, as much as I wanted, as passionately as I wanted, as deeply as I wanted. He received me, helpless.

"Thranduil," I whispered at its lingering end.

"Yes?" he whispered.

"I think it is safe to say we are romantically involved."

He laughed softly at that.

"But how?" I asked.

"I don't know," he replied. "I cannot define what you have done to me."

I sighed and pulled away, for what felt like the thousandth time that night, and glanced around me for answers. I noticed a letter on the floor, which Thranduil and I had been thoughtlessly kicking around, it seemed. He saw it, too, after I did.

"Oh," said he.

"Yes," said I.

It was a letter from my father, and we both knew it. How strange at that moment to feel as if my father were intentionally disapproving of us literally underneath our noses. I picked it up and opened it.

 _Dear Eren,_

 _It is with great concern and regret that I must remove you from your position in the Greenwood immediately. I have gained information regarding King Thranduil putting you in highly dangerous circumstances during the Quest of Erebor, and I will not suffer the death of my dearest first daughter at the hands of such negligence. That you did not tell me of this circumstance stings, and I have already sent an envoy to bring you home to Rivendell. A mere scribe should not be placed in the middle of a war. Any sane person knows this. Perhaps you were right all along about the Elvenking's madness, Eren. I will see you soon._

 _Love,_

 _Father_

"Oh no," I said, staring at the letter. Thranduil just watched me. "I suppose we should have told Father about the war."

I handed the letter to Thranduil and he read it, seeming more and more strained the further he went into it.

"Ugh," he said, lacking eloquence at the time.

"Self-loathing?" I inquired.

He handed back the letter, and then began to pace in my room, his hands clasped behind his back. I watched him think. Finally, after collecting himself, he spoke.

"The first thing we must do is make sure I leave your room unnoticed," he said.

"That's a good start," I agreed.

"The second thing we must do is make absolutely sure your father does _not_ catch wind of… _this_ ," he said, pointing between us.

"He must eventually, though, mustn't he?" I asked.

"That's a war for another day," insisted Thranduil, holding up a hand.

"You really do like putting off wars, don't you," I remarked.

He gave me a very wry look.

"Do you know why I am so cautious?" he asked me.

"No," I said.

"Because this is exactly what happens when I act impulsively!" he said.

"Define what 'this' is...," I ventured.

"A mess," he said. "A complete mess."

"Hm," I remarked, and he noticed that perhaps that wasn't the most sensitive way to define our current situation.

"That's not what I mean," he said.

"What isn't?"

"Whatever it is you are thinking," he said, appearing harangued. "It's this, Eren… ever since you arrived it seems as if everything has gradually been spiraling out of control."

"But it's not just me," I objected.

"No, it isn't," he said, but then: "I don't think."

"Oh, so you think it might be?" I asked in disbelief.

"No," he said, but added: "Not exactly…"

I made a noise of objection.

"Well, it's that I've been erratic since you've arrived, I haven't been centered, it's… it's that you throw me _off_ , so to speak."

"How?" I asked.

"You distract me," he said.

"Then perhaps it is good that I must leave," I said.

Thranduil didn't look as if he believed that, which was good, because I didn't either. But what he said next didn't agree with how he looked.

"Perhaps it is," he said. "You would only distract me more, now."

For some reason, when he said that, it made me extraordinarily sad.

"Much more," he said with regret.

I looked away and drew a breath.

"Well," I said. "Shall we figure out how to get you out of here unnoticed?"

"Yes," he said, but he looked hesitant.

"What is it?" I asked.

"I don't know how long it will be before I will be alone with you again," he said.

I paused.

"It could be a long time," I said, thinking of my father. The first pangs of leaving the Woodland Realm began to pass through me. "Maybe years."

"Likely years," he said, perhaps knowing more than I did.

"But how many?" I wondered aloud. I didn't often become emotional, but tears began to sting my eyes.

Thranduil didn't say anything, maybe he didn't want to make it worse than it already was.

"I like it here," I said, very small.

He crossed the space between us and embraced me.

"I like you here," he said into my hair.

I felt tears fall onto my cheeks, and then I buried my face into his shoulder.

"I don't want you to ever leave," he said, "but you must. We are required to follow the rules, and we will do so."

I turned my head to lean it on Thranduil's shoulder and said, stubborn, "I don't want to follow the rules. Who made the rules?"

"You never do follow the rules," he said, his hand in my hair. "Or you do just enough to drive circumstances to your own ends."

"This is not the end I wanted," I said to him.

Thranduil was quiet for a while, but then he said, "This is not an end."

I had to believe him. To think otherwise hurt too much.

It was early dawn and after the passing of several lingering kisses when Thranduil was obligated to sneak with care away from my room (within the kingdom which he ruled) to spare my reputation. My reputation might have remained intact, but he still broke my heart.

-ooOOoo-


	9. Entry Nine: Leavetaking

_**A/N: I found the perfect music to go with this fic! Grieg's Lyric Pieces. Just throw in an assortment of any of them and it's a perfect accompaniment.**_

-ooOOoo-

 _To Mr. B. Surrey_

 _Academiae Hall, Old Minas Tirith, Gondor_

 _Dear Cousin,_

 _I'll have you know the town of Wiltshire does not take kindly to the academics of Minas Tirith telling us what we can do with our own farmland, and so our citizen militia is ready to head off any soldiers you may send from Gondor._

 _Cordially Yours,_

 _Mr. T. Brown_

 _Wiltshire, The Green Wood, Rhovanion_

-ooOOoo—

Entry Nine:

I feel as if this entry is cursed. Perhaps it just me that is cursed.

My father's envoy arrived within a few days of receiving my letter from him, and I assumed he must have been in a hurry to get me out of the hands of the erratic Elvenking. If that's what he wanted to do, I suppose he accomplished his aim. The idea of leaving Thranduil pained me beyond what I thought I could bear, and I wondered if Thranduil would suffer pain as excruciating as mine, or if his years and experience buffered him from the exquisite misery of which I would bear the brunt.

I was to leave that afternoon, as the golden rays of sunshine filtered through the falling flowers of spring trees. The flowers were dying now, following their brief joy in blooming. Petals covered the ground, trampled under the feet of elves and horses, into the dirt. I had cried enough, and hopefully had it out of me enough to make a dignified goodbye. Outside of the gates of Thranduil's halls I stood beside a gray steed, attempting to memorize the distinct shape of the doors, and the roots which grew around it in architected ways. I had not seen Thranduil, who I suppose would be working on securing a new royal scribe. I wanted to cry, but would not let myself.

"Lady Eren, are you ready?" asked one of the Rivendell guards sent to fetch me.

"You cannot leave without us," said Legolas, who had appeared nearby, with Tauriel beside him. Legolas lightened the darkness in me just a whit, and I was pleased to see him. "There are spiders in the wood who will prey on those like you."

I smiled.

"Thank you, Prince Legolas," I said, and then: "Captain Tauriel."

Tauriel gave me a pleasant nod.

I glanced over the gates once more.

"I suppose I am ready," I said, filled with regret and turning to my horse.

"Lady Eren," said Legolas, and I glanced over my shoulder at him. "My father wishes to speak with you."

The words shot through me with hope and sorrow.

"Where is he?" I asked, trying not to sound anxious.

Legolas glanced at the path nearby, which led to a glade which was used for entertaining visiting dignitaries, though I suppose that's what I was.

"I'll return momentarily," I told my guard.

"Please do not delay too long," said the guard. "We only have enough daylight to reach the edge of the forest before sunset."

I nodded, feeling betrayed even by the sun itself, and quickly made my way along the stone-laid path. The last remaining petals were falling, few and far between, as I walked. After a time, the path opened to a grassy area dotted with wildflowers more lit by the sun than most anywhere in the Mirkwood, excepting the feast grounds. There, I found Thranduil, facing away from me at the edge of the glade, his hands clasped behind his back, and regarding the woods nearby and waiting. Waiting for me. A light spring wind picked up, rushing the grass and flowers around his legs and pulling at the light, simple robe which was split over pale leggings and a tunic. He wore his modest silver circlet today in lieu of a crown, and his hair was pulled back. He was dressed somberly, soberly, modestly, and I wondered why, but at the same time I appreciated the chance to merely see him in any form, for I soon would not. I took time, as much time as I could steal, in observing the Elvenking with his forest for the last time, but at last he turned and discovered I was there.

I didn't know what to do or say.

He approached me slowly, and I noticed he looked tired. I fought back the urge to cry, again.

"I wanted to say good-bye," he said simply.

I nodded, glancing down at the swaying grass which grew between us.

Though it was of a similar sound as the sighing wind around us, I heard him draw a breath and let it out. I didn't want to look at him, but I did want to look at him, but I knew if I did it would be harder to harness my threatening tears.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"What are you sorry for?" I asked.

"What do you think?" he asked me, a little nonplussed. His reaction almost made me smile. It would have, on another day. I could at last look up at him.

I watched strands of silver-blond hair, free from the rest, drift in the breeze around his face and shoulders, and I saw in his pale eyes a deep desire, even a need, to connect with me in this moment. I would give to him what he needed, because that's all I felt I could do.

"Do not be sorry," I said, stepping nearer, until he could look down upon me with as much ardor as he liked.

"I am, regardless," he said, the stubborn king.

"Of what shall we charge you?" I asked.

"Impulse," he said to me. "Mindless impulse."

"Am I to be charged as well?" I asked.

That gave him pause.

"I am as guilty as you," I went on.

"You are not," he insisted.

"Tell me why not," I demanded.

"You're hardly old enough to know better," he said, glancing over me as if I were born yesterday.

"Ha," I said, insistent that his argument was invalid. "You are living proof that age doesn't prevent one from making foolish, reckless decisions."

His breath caught softly when I said that, for I think it cut him to the quick, and I hadn't meant to do so. There was a moment of being caught in the middle of knowing I'd said something that was perhaps terrible, and not knowing how to retract it or repair it, or wondering if I even could retract or repair it now that it was out. I helplessly watched his face move from surprise to acceptance, and then to fatigue, the same fatigue I'd seen on his face when he had first turned around. I was watching a door close, and I began to panic.

"Thranduil, I didn't mean-,"

"You did," he said. "Do not lie to me."

"But that's not-,"

"Perhaps you did not mean to say it," he said. "But, in the same way you always discover secret things, you have discerned the truth of me."

"That isn't who you are," I objected.

"Perhaps in time you will be able to forget this foolishness and cast it aside as a folly of your youth," he said. "You have that excuse to call upon."

I shook my head in disbelief. What was he saying? Was it over? For something to be over, didn't it have to begin in the first place? I didn't know what to say, or what to ask, or how to interpret his words.

He looked over me again, as if in the act of committing something to memory.

"Lady Eren," he said, his voice gentle. "You have to go."

I blinked back terrible, terrible tears.

"Goodbye," he said, though I could sense regret and sorrow in his voice, even though I knew he tried to hide it.

I stifled the sob that was trying to get out. I couldn't say goodbye, both out of hating the sound of it and the stubborn refusal to do so. Therefore, instead of saying goodbye, I merely left. I turned and left and did not spare another glance at the Elvenking I knew was there, in the glade, behind me. I tried not to imagine his face. I put up my hood to hide the tears that betrayed me.

"Lady Eren," said the guard as I arrived and approached my horse.

"Let us go," I said, mounting my steed and gazing at the dark path ahead.

As we made our way through the hours of Mirkwood, Legolas was often beside me as a silent companion. He could have made small talk, but he didn't. He let me be. I think, perhaps, Legolas had come to know me better than I had previously realized, and I drew comfort from that. The shadows had deepened greatly by the time we arrived at the forest outskirts, and it was time to bid Legolas and Tauriel goodbye. I dismounted at the wood's edge and turned to the prince.

"Thank you," I said, and Legolas grasped my hand.

"I will do it again when you return," said Legolas. "Which I hope will be very soon."

"I… hope so, too," I said, doubting. "I will miss your kingdom. Very much."

He hugged me, giving me the comfort I didn't realize until then I desperately needed.

"I know," he said as we embraced, and then, afterward, he told me: "Will you write?"

"I will," I said, smiling at him.

"Good," he said. "So will I."

Then he glanced at Tauriel, who smiled.

"Shall we?" she asked the prince.

"Are you going back through the forest… in the dark?" I asked.

"There's nothing like a good challenge to hone one's skills," said Tauriel with a lopsided smile.

"She's always looking for a challenge," he admitted to me. "Farewell, Lady Eren."

"Farewell," I said, feeling much better about this goodbye.

Legolas and Tauriel melted into the forest shadows without a sound, being in the wood and part of the wood all at once. I had no doubt they would be safe, and nothing ill would be safe from them this night.

I mounted my horse and rejoined my Rivendell guards, riding toward the sun, which was setting over the distant mountains across the plains.

"We will go until the Great River," said my guard to me, "and then we will rest."

"If we must," I said, "though I am not of a mind to rest, tonight."

"You would like to continue towards the path through the Misty Mountains tonight?" the guard asked, seeming surprised.

"I would prefer to do so," I said.

"As you wish, my lady," he acquiesced.

I did not want to stop. Stopping hurt. If I was moving, I was delaying the inevitability of being faced with the full brunt of my thoughts. Somewhere, deep inside, I was afraid that if I slept I would see Thranduil's face in my dreams.

I drove the party to exhaustion all the way to Rivendell, stopping only when necessary, for if I was exhausted I was distracted. I suppose it was selfish of me, but I was living as if trying to outrun the monster of my agony.

It was Arwen I saw first upon arriving in Rivendell, taking her walk by one of the many waterfalls in our homeland. It was morning, and we had ridden almost all night, so I left my horse with the others as Arwen hurried to embrace me.

"Eren!" she cried, and then pulling me out to arm's length, she looked me over. "Are you well? Are you hurt? Father said you were in a war! Did you fight in it? I hope you didn't. You look weary."

I had to smile at Arwen's enthusiasm, even in worry.

"I am well enough," I said. "I observed a war, but I did not fight in it."

"Oh, no," she said, horrified, but then suddenly extremely interested. "What was it like?"

"I hated it," I replied simply.

"I'm sure," she said. "It must have been awful."

"One cannot know until one has seen war," I said, finding displeasure in the recollection this conversation was giving me, "how awful it really is."

"But at least you didn't have to fight in it," she said.

I felt as if I had been in my own war, however, and lost it.

"How terrible it is that the Elvenking put you in that situation," said Arwen, coming to my defense. On the one hand it was comforting, but on the other…

"The situation was more nuanced than that," I said, feeling tired all at once. I knew Arwen saw my weariness, for she put her arm around me and pulled me along the path.

"Let's go see Father," she said.

I sighed. This was going to be difficult, I could just _sense_ it.

My father was in his halls, doing what appeared to be looking at several maps. I was intrigued, as I was unable to help being intrigued by such things.

"What are you doing, Father?" I asked, and he looked up to see me.

As he looked at me, his face changed from surprise, to happiness, to somberness and worry.

"Eren," he said, pulling me into a hug.

Oh, it was the most wonderful feeling in the world to feel the security of my father's embrace at that moment. I could almost pretend nothing had happened, that I'd never gone to Mirkwood, that I'd never seen the war or the spiders or fought with Thranduil, or … but then the pangs of heartache began as I remembered the things that would leave me never the same. I fought back tears because I would not cry in front of my father.

"I missed you," I said into his shoulder, like I had when I was a little girl after he'd been away for worldly reasons, and I tried not to sound as pitiful.

"How was your first foray into the world, Eren?" he asked, pulling back to smile at me. Surely the berating would come soon, I thought.

"It was very enlightening," I said.

He studied my face.

"And difficult, and interesting, and wonderful, and terrible," I added. He nodded.

"That is how it is," he said.

I wondered about the accumulated wisdom of my father.

"And the king…?" he ventured.

"I could describe him in the same way," I said.

He gave a wry chuckle and then took me by the arm and led me into the adjoining room to sit at a table with him and Arwen. After we were seated, his serious face came out… the one that never means anything good. He considered for a long moment before speaking, and then he began.

"I know someone was reading your correspondence with me," my father said. "Why?"

"Because the king immediately pinned me as a spy," I said.

"But you weren't a spy," he objected, but then paused. "At least, not _really._ Maybe a little, but not a nefarious one, at least."

"He is vigilant about those things, Father," I said.

"I have heard he has become more so in recent years," remarked my father.

"I would say that he is… _extremely_ vigilant about the security of his kingdom," I said.

"Oh?" inquired my father.

"I haven't discovered it all yet, but…," and I drew a breath and let out a sigh. "There is something in his past, or some _things,_ that have shaped his caution, his care, his isolationism. He might be described as paranoid, by some."

"Is he truly mad?" asked Arwen.

I considered that for a long moment.

"I would not describe him as such," I said finally.

My father looked at me curiously.

"He cares deeply for his people and devotes all of his energies to protecting them and their culture and way of life," I said. "There is nothing he does that isn't for them. He rules with wisdom and honor… but only with the well-being of his people in his mind. He is fiercely loyal to them, perhaps sometimes at the expense of those in the outside world. However, I have seen him show great mercy to those outside of his kingdom whom he knows are suffering."

My father watched me soberly as I praised the King of the Woodland Realm, but I was frank, and I truly believed all of it because I had seen it.

"In time, he grew to trust me and no longer read my letters," I said.

"He personally read your letters?" he asked, surprised. "But they were so _long_."

I knew he was leaving out the second part of the description.

"And boring?" I inquired with a faint smile.

"I wasn't going to mention it," said my father. Arwen laughed softly.

"They were extremely boring," said Arwen.

"That's how I knew," said my father.

"Good," I said. "I'd hoped it would be noticeable."

"It was quite noticeable," he said. "So, I knew then to manage the content of my own letters to you."

I smiled at him, pleased we could work in covert tandem so flawlessly.

"But there's one thing I don't understand," he said. "If he didn't even allow you the most basic communication with your father unobserved, if he thought you were a _spy,_ I can't imagine what other things he controlled during your time there. Why did you voluntarily decide to stay for the rest of the year? He even dragged you into the middle of a _battle of five armies,_ Eren!"

Ah, so here we came to it. If he only knew the whole of it. I was relieved he didn't know the whole of it.

I shifted my weight.

"I liked it there," I said, avoiding my father's gaze.

"You… liked it there," he repeated, saying it as if it was a question.

"Yes," I said, glancing at him. "The woodland elves are…"

I bit my lip, trying to frame an entire culture succinctly.

"Merry," I said. "Interesting. Exciting."

"I see," said my father, unconvinced.

"Have you ever been to one of their feasts?" I asked.

"Years ago," he said. "Many, many years."

"I haven't," said Arwen, sounding interested.

My father glanced at Arwen as if she wasn't going to a woodland elf feast anytime soon, and she looked a little disappointed.

"But the Greenwood was a different place, back then," said my father, looking over me. "Did you not find it dangerous?"

"You told me it would be," I said.

"I did, but I did not expect-," he began.

"What did you expect?" I asked, feeling irritation itch at me. "You know where you sent me, and you knew the hazards. Why did you find it so surprising that I ended up in a war? You do know where Mirkwood _is_ don't you?"

I glanced over at the maps my father had been studying, and back at him. He seemed not to know what to say to me, since showing anger was a rare thing for me. I _was_ angry, though. He took me away from where I wanted to be, and I was angry… and so very tired.

My father recovered from his surprise and stood, coldness spreading over his countenance from centuries of practice.

"Get some rest, Eren," he said. "We will talk again once you have recovered."

I took his cue and stood, doing the same with my own countenance, for I had been taught that is what I should do. I gave him a nod and walked out, but was pleased to hear Arwen followed me.

"Eren," said Arwen, catching me once I was outside, along a stream-side.

"Yes?" I asked, crumbling beneath my cool façade. I think it had taken up the last of my strength to leave my father's study with my dignity intact.

"Tell me more," she said, touching my arm.

I could not stop the tears, then, and I don't think I wanted to anymore. Arwen immediately recognized my plight and pulled me away, into a garden where we would not be bothered. I cried on her for as long as I wanted, which was substantial. I was fatigue, stress, and sorrow, all bundled up into knots and being wrung out. On this day, I appreciated my sister more than I ever had in my life.

Eventually, I was ready to talk, and she listened. I told her everything. _Everything_. How wonderful it was to have someone to tell! I don't know what would have happened to me if I had not. I thought she would be horrified, or judge me, but she did not, because it turned out she had her own secrets to tell.

"You're in love with the _Numenorian?_ " I asked, wondering if one's jaw really could drop on the floor.

"Not so loud, Eren!" chided Arwen, glancing at the entrance to the garden.

"But he's so, er, _young_." I said, almost wincing at the thought.

Arwen gave me a look.

"I don't think you have room to talk about diverse _ages_ ," said Arwen. "Just how old is the king of the Greenwood, anyway?"

I shifted my weight.

"I believe he was born in the First Age," I muttered.

"Oh, my _stars!"_ cried Arwen, and she burst into disbelieving laughter. "How did this happen?"

"I might ask you the same!" I said, though I found pleasure in laughing about the equal strangeness of our situations.

"But still, what I don't understand is that the king has already been married," said Arwen.

"He has," I said.

"And do you know if he loved his wife?" asked Arwen.

"I gathered that he did," I replied.

"Then…," said Arwen, a confused look on her face, "How can he love you?"

"Perhaps he doesn't," I said.

"Clearly he does!" objected Arwen.

I groaned and looked away.

"I don't know," I said. "He doesn't know. The development left us both as confused as you are, but probably more. All I do know is that nothing is normal, ever, where _he_ is concerned."

"When will you see him again?" Arwen asked.

"If Father finds out, never," I said.

"Oh, come, now," said Arwen. "Father isn't entirely closed-minded."

"Besides," I said, shifting my weight. "Thranduil made it clear that whatever had happened was over."

"It doesn't sound like that to me," said Arwen.

"Of course, it sounds like that!" I said.

"Give it some time," said Arwen. "Let the dust settle. Then we will see."

Time, I suppose, was something of which I had a lot.

I didn't hear word from Legolas until after mid-summer, but it was a delight to get his letter, and it smelled like the Greenwood. The scent brought sensory memories back to me in a way plain memory could not. I remembered simple moments of being there that were previously forgotten.

oOoOoOoOoOo

 _Dear Eren,_

 _I trust you arrived in Rivendell safe and sound, otherwise we would have heard loudly from your father. I hope the trip was pleasant and full of ease. How is it there? It's been some time since I've been there. I should come to Rivendell, sometime._

 _We had the mid-summer feast and I think, for the first time since you left, your absence was acutely felt. It is possible that everyone there missed you in some way or other. It was still merry, of course, but merriness depended upon who it was. Father was… how shall I put it? Not merry. I am certain he feels your absence more than anyone. However, he seems unusually driven and focused on the work of our kingdom, so I suppose that is a silver lining. Also, the new royal scribe is absolute rubbish compared to you._

 _I continue to watch Dol Guldur. What I see doesn't look good._

 _Write soon, and reveal the secrets of Rivendell._

 _Yours,_

 _Legolas Greenleaf_

oOoOoOoOoOo


	10. Entry Ten: Lothlorien

-ooOOoo—

 _To Mr. T. Brown_

 _Wiltshire, The Green Wood, Rhovanion_

 _Dear Cousin,_

 _It is an outrage what your farmer militia has done to my students and the Gondorian guards. They do not appreciate being run off by charging cows and pitchforks. Do you not understand what sits beneath this hill, buried by time? It is a goldmine of old elfin archaeological artifacts! You leave me no choice but to involve my superiors._

 _Yours Truly,_

 _Mr. B. Surrey_

 _Academiae Hall, Old Minis Tirith, Gondor_

-ooOOoo—

Entry Ten:

Twenty years passed. That was easy for me to do. For Arwen, it wasn't as easy. She didn't have many years to spare with her Numenorean, and I watched her grow more anxious as each year passed. The man wished to prove his worth, and he seemed to have a plan to do it, though it seemed to be moving along in a roundabout way. He was not often in Rivendell anymore, and spent most of his time in the west, guarding the Shire or the places roundabout from the darkness that was slowly spreading across the land. Now, he had left for the Southron regions, being of a mind to scout for my father and Gandalf the Grey, regarding Sauron and his strength in Mordor. He was quite good at scouting, or _rangering_ , as he liked to call it.

I said it was easy for me to let twenty years pass, and I must clarify that it was not easy, but it was hard in a different way than it was for Arwen. She knew Aragorn loved her. I was left in the imbalance of not knowing anything for certain, and in eventually wondering if my memories were real or imaginary, or if I have been the mad one all along. I wondered if I had been merely a foolish youth stuck in a king's game, which idea filled me with both shame and fury.

Of course, Thranduil never wrote once, but Legolas did often, and maybe it was his letters that proved to me that I was sane and that it was as I remembered it. He told me here and there and between the lines that Thranduil wasn't the same since I left. If he was grey before I came, he was greyer yet, now. It was only through the observations of Legolas that I knew I'd had any true impact at all on the Elvenking.

One day in spring, Arwen and I were sitting in one of Rivendell's libraries, studying old texts. Well, she was reading them and I was scribing them, since they were old and needed redone anyway. She had always had a strong interest in histories and so this was work she enjoyed. It kept me occupied, and could be moderately interesting, however, nothing had seemed the same since my time scribing in the court of the Greenwood.

We finished one of the tomes and Arwen put it down gently to protect the old pages.

"So," she said. "There is a gathering in Lothlorien next month."

"What sort of gathering?" I asked, putting away my inkpot.

"A council gathering," she said.

"The White Council?" I asked.

"Not exactly," she said. "King Thranduil is also part of this council."

This was new. This was _really new._

"How did Grandmother convince Thranduil to join any councils?" I asked, staring at Arwen. "How did she convince him to leave his forest at all?"

"I couldn't begin to guess," said Arwen, "But if I _must_ guess, I would think the influence came less from Grandmother and more from _you_."

"You're mad," I said.

"Think on it," said Arwen. "You're the one who pressed him to observe Dol Guldur and to communicate with the outside world and to move out of the space in which he found comfort."

"Tsk," I said, "that's hardly proof of anything."

"It is not proof, that is true," said Arwen, letting the subject drop to pick up another: "So, do you want to go?"

I dropped my quill on the floor.

"To the council gathering?" I asked.

Arwen nodded.

"In Lothlorien?"

She nodded again.

"With Thranduil?"

I looked at her as if she were out of her mind. Leaning forward, I asked her, as if in confidence:

"Do I look like I want to suffer more misery than I already have?"

She chided me with a look.

"Father would never let us go," I said, searching for more evidence it was a bad plan.

"Father is going," said Arwen. "We can go with him, for the purpose of visiting our beloved grandmother."

I stared at her, and then picked up my quill as I considered. I hated the idea, but I loved the idea, and I hated that I loved the idea. The whole plan filled me with a nervous energy that I thought I had long put to rest, and I found myself tapping my quill rapidly on the table with the nerve-wracking possibilities. How terrifying was the possibility of seeing him again, and how awful, but how much I betrayed myself by wanting to grasp at anything to have the chance! I loathed myself for my weakness, I wanted to wait until _he_ made the first overture, if he ever would, but I found myself suddenly tired of waiting. I wanted to see him again, I wanted to _see him again._ It rang through my mind like a siren, blocking out everything else and forcing me into submission.

I dropped my quill upon the table, defeated, and covered my face with my hands.

"I suppose we should pack our things," I said, muffled.

I heard Arwen's delighted laugh and clap nearby.

-ooOOoo—

The road to Lothlorien was a pleasant trip, and I was forced to admit how pleased I was to be travelling with my sister and my father again. We hadn't done anything like this for ages. Not literal ages, per se. One must specify when one is an elf.

After we came through the Misty Mountain pass, we turned south toward Lothlorien, but I found myself gazing toward the direction in which I knew Mirkwood lay, wondering if I might catch a glimpse of it on the horizon. I did not.

As we passed into the golden forest of Lothlorien, I breathed a sigh of relief at the feeling of peace that prevailed here. The outside world might be chaos, but Lorien remained clean, clear of pollution. We guided our horses along the stream Celebrant, and the silver sound it made as it rushed over and around the stones in its bed felt to my mind as if I had already been refreshed in a cool, soothing stream. I watched the stones in the streambeds as we passed by; I had always been fond of their colors, for when dry, they all appeared muted, but when immersed in the stream, they became rich mauves, taupes, blue-greys, pearls, and even oranges and deep reds. Above us the leaves of mallorn trees quivered delicately in the wind, golden hued and shimmering, and beyond were patches of brilliant blue sky. The peace of Lothlorien allowed me to forget, momentarily, the anxiety of the meeting that was to come.

My grandmother and grandfather were as beautiful and gracious as they had ever been; and though they were happy to see us and their son-in-law, they were also busy preparing for the other visitors who would come to that night's gathering. Galadriel requested my father join them in the preparations, and Arwen and I were sent off to explore the forest.

We eventually found ourselves sitting by a stream in the late afternoon, and I was pulling out stones that looked especially interesting while Arwen plucked grass from the ground and talked about her Dunadan or Estel or Aragorn.

"He's going to do great things, you know," she said, pulling a piece of grass apart.

"What sorts of great things?" I inquired throwing a pebble back into the stream. It had looked purple in the stream, but out of it, it was only grey.

Arwen looked at me.

"The darkness that spreads over the land," she said to me. "He will be one of those with the valor to destroy it."

"How do you know?" I asked.

She shifted her weight, considering her response.

"I don't know how I know it," she said.

"I do wonder if you've gotten that from Father," I said, perhaps a little jealous. My father had always had the gift of foresight, and so far, it wasn't something with which I had been gifted, as far as I could tell. It seems I only had been gifted with the gift of miraculous scribing, but a fat lot of good that did me. I plunked another pebble into the racing waters of the stream.

Arwen shrugged, and she seemed to worry regardless, despite what her gift told her.

A bundle of thrushes emerged from a bush across the stream as if startled, and flew into the sky in a cacophony of flapping and birdcalls, and Arwen and I watched them go for a moment, until, upon glancing at each other, we realized at once we'd failed to notice what might have startled them. There, across the stream, was only silence. We stood and waited, wary.

From the trees emerged Legolas, and he seemed to be looking for something. He looked much the same as when I last saw him. He still shone as if a ray of sunlight had come to the ground and taken form. I was so delighted to see him, I could hardly contain it.

"Prince Legolas!" I called, and as he saw us, he lit up with a smile.

"Lady Eren!" he called, from across the stream, and then he came to the edge and seemed to wonder how to ford the thing.

"This is the prince of the Woodland Realm?" inquired Arwen.

In the time it took for me to tell Arwen about who he was, Legolas had discovered a series of stones to hop across the stream and reach us. He came to me and we embraced in a merry hug, full of laughter, and I was sharply reminded of the frivolity of the Woodland elves all over again. Arwen was surprised by our candor, but also seemed to find our happiness infectious, and looked curious.

I made introductions, and then asked Legolas what he was doing here.

"I came to Lorien with my father," he said. "Of course. Why are you here?"

"We came with our father," I replied. "Of _course._ "

He laughed.

"I did not expect to see you," he said.

"Nor I," I said, "but what a happy accident!"

He agreed.

"I think, like you two, I've been sent off to wander the forest while the members of the actual council convene," said Legolas. "However, I think we should become _spies._ "

"That sounds a lot more fun than throwing pebbles into the stream," I said.

"But would they want us to spy on them?" asked Arwen, looking hesitant.

I glanced at Arwen and Legolas just smiled at her.

"Let's go," I said, pulling Arwen by the arm.

We walked through the forest, and the mallorn trees grew taller and taller the closer we came to the center of Lorien, and the late afternoon deepened into dusk.

"Do you know where they are?" I asked Legolas.

"In the clearing near Galadriel's mirror," he replied.

We crept nearer to the place where they were supposed to be, and we hid behind trees and tried to steal glances, but we could see very little, and hear nothing. Legolas glanced at me and shook his head, as if this wouldn't do. I looked around for ideas.

Legolas tugged my arm and pointed up, at the boughs that hung over the meeting-place. I knew at once what he meant for us to do, so I pulled Arwen along with me to a further tree, where we could climb and then move through the branches to our goal perch. I glanced back at Legolas, but he had crept over to a tree on the other side of the clearing, and appeared to be preparing to climb that one instead. I suppose he thought all three of us on one bough was too many.

Arwen appeared scared, but also a little delighted.

"Do your woodland friends always pull you into these kinds of clandestine acts?" she whispered.

"Sometimes?" I replied, considering. "They're not dull, at least."

"There is that," said Arwen, as we began to climb. "When was the last time you climbed a tree?"

"I suppose it was the last time I was in the Woodland Realm," I said, trying not to remember too much about climbing into the trees with Thranduil. "It's an enlivening exercise, I think."

"That explains a lot," said Arwen, her breath a bit short with the exertion of climbing. We reached the main branches and I measured the best way to get where we wanted to be, near the meeting, or nearly over it. I wondered how Legolas was faring on the other side.

"Now, let's cross this bough to that one," I said, pointing to a thick branch. We lighted across and found our branch, where we would be mostly out of the shadows of lamplight, and as we sat huddled together like children on the mallorn branch, we saw our first clear view of the council.

Galadriel and Celeborn sat at either end of a large, polished stone table with a map rolled out in the middle, and my father sat on one side with an old man I didn't recognize in a brown robe with a shabby hat. On the other side of the table, I saw Thranduil, and I was caught. He looked reserved, even cold, wearing a silver circlet and modest autumn-hued robes with his hair tied back, but I was so enthralled with the rush of emotion from simply seeing him again that I hardly noticed.

Arwen tugged my arm, and pointed across the way, to Legolas on an adjoining branch, looking down upon the party. He moved like a shadow along the branches until he was beside me, and there he sat down, as if it was where he belonged.

"We have removed all of the bridges to the north," Galadriel was saying. "So we can more easily impede anything ill that might try to cross from Dol Guldur."

"The Nazgul do not like rushing streams," said Celeborn. "Especially the clear-flowing streams of Lothlorien."

I felt Arwen shiver beside me.

"Our people use ropes to cross in the northernmost parts, and remove them immediately," said Galadriel.

"Have you had much of foul things trying to enter the wood?" asked my father.

"Not yet," said Galadriel. "But they grow bolder, and stronger."

She looked at Thranduil as she said the last words.

"Is that your experience in the Greenwood, Elvenking?" she asked.

Thranduil turned his attention to the map between them, and pointed to a spot.

"This is where they dared intrude in the wood a score of years ago," he said, and then moved his finger. "And this is where they come now."

"Are there more of them?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied. "But we have managed thus far."

Galadriel looked down at the map with concern.

"The animals are fleeing what is left of the Greenwood to the north," said the old man. "Where they leave, the forest they leave behind becomes Mirkwood."

Thranduil shifted his weight. He didn't seem to like that.

"Radagast the Brown," said Galadriel to the old man, and I realized he was the wizard, tender of beasts, which I had never seen, "you've also observed Dol Guldur, have you not?"

"I … have been there," said Rhadagast. "It's a terrible place from which I barely escaped."

"Is the shadow at Dol Guldur growing in power?" asked Galadriel.

"I believe so, my lady," the wizard replied.

They went on, each person discussing their realm and the effects felt therein. The only person I wondered about being there was my father. The rest had a personal stake in what was happening in Dol Guldur, as their lands and wards bordered the shadow that stretched across the land east of the Misty Mountains. But Rivendell was west of the mountains, and safe from Dol Guldur, at least for now. Why had he been brought here? On that note, I found myself wondering why Thranduil deigned to come. Perhaps things had gotten worse since I'd been gone.

I pulled up my legs and wrapped my arms around, resting my chin on my knees, and I admitted things to myself. I missed being in his kingdom. I missed scribing in his court. I missed knowing what was happening in the Greenwood. I missed him. _I missed him_.

Thranduil glanced up then, and a jolt ran through me. He saw us, all sitting together like three birds on that branch and his eyebrows raised in surprise, and then his surprise melted straightaway into droll humor and he dragged his eyes back to the council. That he didn't point us out, but let us continue, and was even amused by our antics spoke volumes of the difference between the Woodland Realm and mine. I'd missed his humor, too. Arwen pinched my arm. I nudged her back.

My grandmother noticed, however, in her way of _noticing things_. It seemed first she sensed something had changed in Thranduil, and while Radagast and Celeborn were discussing migratory bird pattern changes, I saw her glance at the Elvenking and pause. Then she immediately glanced sidelong, up at us, and more particularly at _me._ The short length of time she held my gaze told me everything I needed to know. She had discerned everything at once. My stomach dropped. Arwen forsook pinching my arm and instead grabbed it.

Nevertheless, Galadriel also continued with the council as if nothing had occurred.

Legolas looked at me inquiringly. I gestured and we melted away as quietly as we came.

Once out of earshot and eyesight of the meeting, I dissolved into a puddle of despondence at the foot of a mallorn tree.

"Trouble is my name," I said, too dramatic.

"Grandmother was looking at you!" said Arwen, who fully knew what that meant, and she sat beside me to put an arm around my shoulders.

Legolas sat down before us, his legs neatly crossed. "What does that mean?"

"Ah," I said, since Arwen knew everything, and I was fairly sure Legolas _didn't,_ and I didn't want to tell him about my… _whatever_ … with his father.

"Grandmother just," said Arwen, poorly attempting to form a lie, "found out Eren was spying."

"We were all doing that," said Legolas, who didn't seem to be buying it.

Just then we heard the voices of the council leaving the clearing and coming closer. Legolas lighted to his feet and held out a hand for each of us.

"Come on," he said, seeming enlivened by the excitement of sneaking around. "Let's go!"

So, for lack of a better plan, we did; we ran like thieves into the night, through and around mallorn and lantern light and shadow, until we came to the place where the council was to be received, post-counseling. It was an especially large mallorn tree which had stairs leading up into its boughs, and within its boughs it held wonderful platforms lit with dazzling lantern lights and all manner of reception comforts. At the foot of the stairs, Arwen and I helped each other look a bit less like orphans and a little more like properly groomed ladies of Rivendell, and then we ascended to the reception as if we would never dream of climbing in trees like _waifs_. Legolas only looked mildly amused by everything.

We were received graciously by the elves already in attendance.

"Is the council on its way, Lady Eren?" asked one of me.

"I couldn't begin to surmise," I feinted, and then I tried not to twitch when Legolas made a face at me over the elf's shoulder for lying.

Legolas became embroiled in elves asking after the health of his woodland realm, and so Arwen and I abandoned him to his fate and wandered the platforms as they meandered through the massive mallorn branches, stepping from one to the other, where another arrangement of flowers and tea-lights, or delightful refreshment might be waiting to be discovered. We found one with a wooden bench which faced out, over the forest, and sat down.

Through the golden branches, the sky was a darkened azure with the onset of evening, and a heavy sickle moon hung above the horizon. A few stars had pierced the deepening night, fresh and cold and hopeful.

"It has truly been too long since we've been here," I said.

"Let's not wait so long to come again," said Arwen.

Down below, we could hear that the council had arrived at the party, and I shifted my weight on the bench.

"What should I do, Arwen?" I asked, feeling nerves build up inside of me.

Arwen looked at me, and then she smiled.

"What do you want to do?" she asked.

It was a good question.

"I… would sincerely regret it if I didn't talk to him during this trip," I said.

"I think that's true," said Arwen.

"But I," I began, then after a moment, I continued: "I don't know what to say."

"It will probably come to you," said Arwen.

"But what if it doesn't?" I asked, doubting.

"Then it will probably be very funny in hindsight," she said, and I laughed, a bit wry.

In the meantime, while we were talking, Legolas' voice came from nearby.

"We just thought we would keep an eye on all of you," he was saying, "to make sure the council went properly."

"A poor excuse for spying," said Thranduil's voice, and Arwen and I turned to see the woodland prince and the Elvenking climbing onto our platform. It was too late to flee, so I would have to face my fate.

"You're always concerned with _spying_ , aren't you, Your Majesty?" I asked, and Thranduil looked up and discovered me.

The surprise in his face dissolved into acceptance, but there was also a kindness, there.

"Well, then," he said, a sprightly glint in his eye, "If it isn't the _queen of spies_ , herself, eavesdropping upon my son and I."

"It was impossible not to eavesdrop, for the noise made by your ascent was nearly deafening," I replied, and then, before he had a chance to reply, I spoke with sudden pleasantness: "Have you met my sister, Arwen?"

"I have not," said Thranduil, and he became perfectly cordial where my sister was concerned. "A pleasure, Lady Arwen."

Arwen curtsied for the Elvenking.

"Lady Arwen," said Legolas of a sudden, "I wonder if you have seen the birds nesting on yonder platform?"

"I have not," said she.

"May I show you?" asked Legolas, and I felt as if I were quickly losing control of the situation, for I knew exactly what Legolas was up to.

"I would enjoy that very much," said Arwen brightly, and made to go, dissolving all my hopes of using her as a crutch with the Elvenking.

"Yes, well," I said lamely as they exited our scene. "See you both soon."

And thus, Thranduil and I were left alone, facing one another at last. I stood before my bench with the darkening forest behind me, and at Thranduil's back was lantern light and the stair down to the next platform. I took the opportunity to regard him, simply because I'd been denied the chance for twenty years. The light of the lanterns behind him gave his pale hair a radiant halo.

He was different. Simpler. I wondered if that was because he was travelling or because of something else. After a moment I realized he'd been looking at me, too, in much the same way.

"You look the same as I remember," he said, finally.

I hesitated, not sure if I should mention my diverse opinion, so I smiled, feeling shy at our sudden alone-ness. I glanced at the bench near me.

"Would you like to sit down?" I asked, feeling as if I was being too polite, but unable to behave any other way.

"Very well," he said, as if acquiescing.

We sat together on the bench, but we were very far apart. Perhaps, if one looked at it the right way, we sat _comically_ far apart. I listened to a nightingale in the distance.

"How have you been?" he asked.

 _Terrible, wan, filled with ennui, miserable_ , I wanted to say. _Do you not know how much I've suffered?_ I wanted to say. _Why could you not write even once?_ I wanted to say.

"Fine," I said, refusing to look at him. "And you?"

It took him a while to respond.

"Fine," he said at last.

"You have not," I said.

"How should you know?" he asked.

"How could you be?" I inquired, finally turning to look at him.

He had no answer for that, and looked betrayed by my words.

"Your ability to do that borders on cruelty," he remarked.

"How is your new royal scribe?" I asked, changing tack.

"Insufficient," he replied.

"How so?" I asked.

"I've been through nearly twenty," he said.

"Dear stars," I oathed.

"None are sufficient," he said.

"You need me," I said.

"I do," he said.

"I want to be your scribe," I said.

"Then come back," he said.

"Then why don't you speak with my father?" I asked. "Why don't you talk to him about the war and why you took me to it, and what to expect from the Woodland Realm, and perhaps even, the skies forbid, _apologize_?"

"You want me to apologize to your father?" he asked.

"If you explained reasoning, then he would listen," I said. "My father is a reasonable man, and then perhaps-,"

Thranduil cut me off.

"If you want to come back to the Woodland Realm, why is it that _you_ have not explained the war to your father, nor expressed your desire to scribe in my court, nor reasoned with him during these past twenty years so he would allow you to do so?" he asked.

I was caught speechless by his accusation.

"Are you not an agent unto yourself?" asked Thranduil, posing a question that seemed to stem from frustration. "There is no doubt in my mind that, were you determined to do so, you could have convinced your father to allow you to do _anything_ , and yet it appears that you have done _nothing._ "

"You have not written me once since the last moment I saw you!" I accused back. "How can you fault me for doing nothing, when you have done nothing yourself?"

"Then it appears we have created our own impasse of mutual inaction," he said.

I simmered on my side of the bench. A long, tense moment passed, the nightingale sang, and the distant sound of the party below rose up like a murmuring stream. I wanted him to reach across the chasm between us and make a bridge, all the while knowing I could do so myself, but refusing. It was too frightening to make the attempt.

"Eren," he began, but he couldn't continue because my grandmother's voice surprised us from behind.

"Imagine my surprise to discover what has developed here," said Galadriel, and we both stood to face her.

"Lady Galadriel," said Thranduil in greeting.

"Grandmother, it isn't-," I began.

"It is," she said, chiding me. She didn't look either angry or pleased. She looked neutral. "Now the question is what will you choose to do about it?"

A long moment passed where neither I nor Thranduil knew how to respond to her, and she simply watched us, waiting, patient. Then, across her face, passed a faint hint of bemusement.

"I see," she said, and she turned to leave.

Thranduil and I glanced at each other.

"Lady Galadriel," said Thranduil, and she stopped, turning to give him her full attention. "I'm not certain what you have discerned, but I mean no ill towards Lady Eren."

Galadriel gazed at Thranduil, an enigmatic smile on her features.

"I am one of the few who can see you, Thranduil, as a child, still," she said. "I knew your father, Oropher, well."

Thranduil seemed not to know how to take that.

"You have always been erratic, haven't you?" she observed. "Though you paid the price for it long ago. A heavy price. One which burdens you to this day."

As Thranduil's fist clenched by his side, I wondered what Galadriel knew, and _I wanted to know it, too._

"You may try to bury and control it, but," said Galadriel, "one cannot alter the essence of what one is."

His tenseness seemed palpable.

"River water flows where it will," said Galadriel. "You may attempt to stop it with a wall of stone, but it will overflow one day. Instead, perhaps one can alter the flow to a more peaceable route in more subtle ways."

"I do not know what you imply," said Thranduil.

"Nothing, perhaps," said Galadriel.

"Have you told Father?" I asked. "About… us?"

"No," said Galadriel, turning her attention onto me. "Nor will I. That is up to you."

She shifted her eyes back to Thranduil, as if in warning, but said nothing. At least, she said nothing _out loud_. Thranduil shifted back a step, and then my grandmother gave me a gentle, amused smile as she glided away, leaving us alone, once more.

I turned to look at Thranduil, who seemed to be amid inner turmoil. He was uncomfortable with everything that had just transpired, and so I felt sympathetic and sorry.

"I should not have come," he said, his eyes cast down to the bench.

"I am glad you did," I said, and I lifted my hand to touch his arm, but decided against it.

"Why did you come?" he asked, glancing askance at me.

"Because I knew you would be here," I answered with total honesty. He looked at me as if I were mad.

"Why would you make the effort to travel miles upon miles to see me at a council gathering if you could not be bothered to write me in all of these years?" he asked.

"It is you who did not write me," I objected.

"You and I are both capable of writing," he said, "and I might add you are even more capable than me."

"Do you not remember the last time we met?" I asked.

"In perfect detail," he said, gazing at me.

"Then you must recall how you implied we were finished," I said.

"When has implication stopped you from pursuing anything?" he asked.

"Did you truly expect me to supersede your wishes?" I asked.

"No," he said. "I hoped you would not."

"See?" I said.

"But I equally hoped you would," he said.

"You are a labyrinth," I said, throwing my hands up.

"And you are stubborn," he said, "and wily and capable of discerning and disarming the most hidden things, and I hate it… and _I miss it."_

" _I miss you_ ," I said, reckless, but meaning it to my bones.

He paused and was stricken.

"I cannot," he began, seeming to search his mind for focus, "I cannot be plunged into this, not now."

But, oh, how the effect I had on him fed something within me that had _craved_ him for twenty years. I was starving, and I desperately wanted more.

"Then when?" I asked.

"How forward you can be," he remarked.

"I want to be your scribe, at least," I said.

"You will be my scribe," he said, "at any moment that you wish it."

"Now," I said.

"That is up to you to manage," he said, washing his hands of my fate with my father.

I turned away to hide my frustration, and to think quickly.

"If I manage it, if I return to the Woodland Realm," I said into the night, "then will you apologize to my father?"

"Yes," he said, as if he hadn't needed to think about it.

I gazed at the heavy sickle moon.

"I will do it," I said.

"Of that, I do not doubt," he replied.

-ooOOoo—


	11. Entry Eleven: In Rivendell

-ooOOoo—

 _To Mr. B. Surrey_

 _Academiae Hall, Old Minas Tirith, Gondor_

 _Dear Cousin,_

 _Those were not cows that ran off your agents; they were bulls. Shows what lot of good your education has taught you. Now, I will go back to farming in peace._

 _Many Happy Returns,_

 _Mr. T. Brown_

 _Wiltshire, The Green Wood, Rhovanion_

-ooOOoo—

Entry Eleven:

It was with a renewed sense of purpose that I set forth from Lothlorien to return to Rivendell with my father and sister, and while Arwen knew what that purpose was, my father was yet to have any idea. I was going to breach the possibility of returning to the Greenwood, and I hoped it would be soon. These things could sometimes take time where my father was concerned, especially since the place where I wanted to go happened to be falling daily into greater shadow.

But how _exciting_ it was!

Thranduil and I had parted as amicably as could be hoped for under the circumstances, him leaving with the vague promise of possibly writing to me maybe at some point, and myself leaving with the vague promise of somehow and sometime gaining permission to return. It was all, admittedly, vague and avoidant of commitment, but that defined us rather well, I think. I found that preferable to nothing, and I think he did, too.

Several weeks after returning from Lothlorien, I approached my father for the first time.

"Good morning, Father," I said, as he wrote correspondence at his desk.

"You seem," he ventured, " _bright._ "

He didn't trust me immediately. Sometimes, I cursed that he knew me too well.

"Maybe I am," I said.

"Yes," he said, putting his quill down, and waiting for whatever was coming.

It looked like I was going to have to be straightforward.

"I would like to return to the Greenwood," I said.

"What?" he asked, lacking belief I would request such a thing.

"Should I… repeat myself?" I queried.

He sighed and rubbed his temple.

"Explain," he offered, after gathering himself.

"I like the Greenwood, I like scribing for the Elvenking's court. It is exciting, engaging work, and I want to return," I said.

"You like the dangers of Mirkwood?" he asked.

"I don't mind them," I said, "Not much. Except sometimes."

"Except when you're in mortal peril?" he asked.

"I don't like that part," I said. "But it usually passes quickly."

He narrowed his eyes at me, as if that wasn't enough.

I cleared my throat.

"No more wars," he said sternly.

I paused.

He stared at me.

"I can't promise that," I said.

"Then, no," he said. "You can't go."

"But Father," I said, trying not to whine, but finding myself close to it, "I'm wasting away here, there's nothing for me to do. Nothing that matters."

"Oh, you need something to do?" he asked me.

I'd made a crucial mistake.

I was then put to the task of compiling all the histories in Rivendell into a more streamlined and easily-accessible format, and if it sounds boring, I can assure you it was a hundred times more boring than it sounds.

In the meantime, I received a letter from Thranduil, six months after returning from Rivendell:

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

 _Dear Lady Eren,_

 _Hello._

 _I've replaced another royal scribe. Please advise of your status. It is tiresome to write these myself._

 _Regards,_

 _The Elvenking of the Woodland Realm_

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

I sighed, possibly sniffed the thing, but then cursed the brevity with which he wrote me. I wrote back:

 _Dear The Elvenking of the Woodland Realm,_

 _I am working on it. There is a setback. Do try to endure the suffering of writing twenty-eight words all on your own, nearly one-fifth of which are merely the reciting of your title._

 _Best Wishes,_

 _Lady Eren of Rivendell, Greatest Scribe in Middle Earth_

The labor in which my father put me took three years to complete, even with my exceptionally fast skills at scribing. Over those three years, I had a lot of time to think about where I'd gone wrong, and so the next time I went to ask my father, I was determined to try a different tactic.

"I have finished rewriting the histories," I said, to my father, as he looked up from reading a correspondence.

"Very good," he said. "That engaged you rather well, now, didn't it?"

"It did engage me," I replied, being unable to put "good" or "well" into the sentence.

"Do you need something else to do?" he asked.

"No," I said quickly. "I'm fine."

"That's nice," he said, returning to his correspondence.

"Father…," I ventured.

"Yes?" he asked, shifting his eyes back to me.

"If I were to return to scribe for the Greenwood court," I began.

"Not this again," he said.

"Hear me out," I requested.

He nodded in allowance.

"I believe the Elvenking would allow me to keep you apprised of developments in the Woodland Realm this time," I said. "It would be an invaluable source of information for you, just like you'd originally intended."

"Why do you believe he would allow that?" he asked.

"Because he trusts me," I said.

"Does he?"

"I think so," I said.

"You don't seem positive."

"I'm never positive where he is concerned," I said.

"That is a good place to be," he said. "Don't ever be sure of anything, then you can always be prepared for variance."

"Interesting advice," I said.

"But you think you would be able to keep me informed about his court?" he asked, considering. "That is valuable, I cannot deny it. However, there is the problem with the danger of being there, and that you don't seem to have the sense to keep out of it."

"Father!" I objected.

"Do you?" he asked.

I paused a moment.

"No," I admitted. "It's because I don't want to."

My father shifted his weight, putting the letter down and peering at me.

"You may go scribe for the Elvenking, but only under my specific terms," he said. "You need to learn to use a weapon."

"I…," I began, but failed utterly. Use a weapon? This was not a thing that we Rivendell ladies _did_.

"You must, and you must learn to use it well," he said.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because you will not stay out of trouble, that's why," he said. "Now choose which one, and master it, and then you can go back to Mirkwood."

I left with a strange mixture of deflatedness and hope. I had a lot of work to do, but if I did that work, I would have what I wanted. So, I set about deciding which weapon would make the most sense for me to master, though I was dubious about the 'mastering' part. I couldn't imagine myself mastering any weapon. When I approached the weapons masters in Rivendell, they didn't believe me, and had to have the verification of my father before they would allow me to so much as touch a sword. It filled me with no small amount of indignation to be treated like such a delicate flower, but perhaps that helped to fuel whatever rage it might take to wield a weapon properly.

Arwen was in shock for at least three months over the development.

It turned out I was appalling at swords. I was also terrible at polearms, and dreadful with blades in general, including daggers, and shields, bludgeons, maces, morning stars… it's a wonder I never accidentally killed anybody. However, there was a silver lining; I liked the bow. I was terrible at it, too, but I liked it. There was something meditative about it. While practicing archery, my concentration was so acute that I forgot everything except myself, the bow and arrow, and the target. It was beautiful, really. Not my skill, that is, my skill was horrifying. But archery itself… _beautiful._ I knew it was something I could enjoy. In fact, it gave me, somehow, the same intense feeling of creative concentration that I got from scribing. I was pleased with it.

It didn't seem fit to mention earlier, but I did receive another letter from Thranduil:

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

 _Dear Raven-Haired Lady of Rivendell,_

 _Please advise of status. Another season passes._

 _Until,_

 _E.o.W.R_

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

Now he had become so lazy that he couldn't even write his entire name out, he had to initial it as if ink were a dire commodity.

 _Dear Eowr,_

 _I have already informed you that I am working on it. A setback has been overcome, yet I have much work to do before I am available. My father has tasked me to master a weapon of war before I am allowed to set foot in your murderous realm again, and it isn't easy to complete such a task. Attempt to be patient, and remember, it wouldn't kill you to write more than two broken sentences._

 _Then,_

 _E_

I mentioned before that I enjoyed archery, even though I was dreadful at it, but when one loves something, and one practices it diligently, one can improve, and that's what I did. I worked. I worked _hard_ , and I employed a master archer to teach me who began as a dubious mentor, but became delighted as I gained skill. I gained strength, as well, which one must, if one is going to draw a bow properly. Two more years passed.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

 _Dear E,_

 _Another feast, another day at court. Another foe felled in the Mirkwood. When are you coming? How far have you come? Did you forget?_

 _This has been an inquiry,_

 _KT_

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

 _Dear You,_

 _I did not forget. I labor every day to come. I loathe to miss a single feast, a single day at court, even a single foe felled in the Mirkwood. Do you know how badly I wish I were there? I am certain you do not, or you would not ask any of these questions, but would simply know that I would be there as swiftly as I could manage. How dare you question me. How very dare you._

 _Inquiry Rebuked,_

 _Myself_

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

 _To: You_

 _The amount with which you wish to be here cannot possibly be matched by the amount with which I wish you were here. It is impossible. In fact, that you would question my questions offends me greatly, possibly to the point of war. I am still mulling it over._

 _Do not delay. I say that only because I know it will irritate you. It is not because I urge you to hurry, or need you to do so. Although, there is the fact that my court desperately needs a decent scribe. I've already gone through two more. The discarded pile of scribes has grown so large it is starting to block my front door, and it is a great inconvenience to the whole kingdom._

 _I've always thought that if you wore green, it would bring out the color of your eyes._

 _Again,_

 _The King_

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

His letters made me laugh, they made me miss him more, they hurt and brought me joy at the same time. Above all, they truly did make me work harder and faster, though I would never, ever, in all of eternity, admit it to him.

Finally, after five years of intense practice, I had become an… adequate archer. Sometimes, when my concentration wasn't right, I was erratic. But sometimes, when my focus was on point, I could pass for a master. I could translate my perfection in scribing into my focus on the bullseye, and hit it. I hoped it would be enough for my father to let me go.

The day I showed my father my skills, I was a nervous wreck. He watched me intently. Too intently.

"Your aim is off," he said.

"It's because you're watching me like that," I said, aiming again, and possibly sweating a little.

"You'll be under more stress than this when you're under attack," he said.

I had to admit he had a point.

"Can you shoot from a horse?" he asked.

I released my bow and looked at him.

"No," I said, dreading the result of lacking that skillset.

"Then you must learn that first," he said, and left the field.

My shoulders slumped and my spirits slumped as well. My instructor came beside me and patted me on the shoulder.

"I suppose we have some work to do," he said.

"Can you make me battle-ready?" I asked.

"In time," he said.

It was always time. More time. More and more time. I wanted to throw my bow and break my arrow over my knee. But I didn't.

 _Dear K,_

 _Sometimes it is best to rake the discarded scribes into a thin layer over one's flowerbeds. I have heard they make a fine mulch._

 _Always Helpful,_

 _E_

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

 _Dear Lady E.,_

 _The callousness with which you regard my pile of discarded scribes is appalling. What are they teaching you about war in Rivendell? Don't believe a word. It's as terrible as you thought it was._

 _Solemnly Yours,_

 _T_

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

It took me five more years to learn how to shoot a bow from the back of a horse with anything better than rudimentary ability. I should admit I enjoyed it, however. My time with the bow and my horse became sacrosanct; moments in time when I could forget everything else and be one with a single purpose: hitting the center of the target against all odds.

 _Dearest T,_

 _I have just remembered that you owe me the answer to one question, which you promised on the winter night we climbed trees in your forest. Mind you, I have lied; I did not just remember this. I've only decided to bring it up now because I thought it only fair to warn you that payment will be coming due very soon on your promise._

 _You will answer my question, and you will answer it thoroughly and completely._

 _Ruminate on That,_

 _L.E.o.R_

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

 _My Leor,_

 _I am terrified. Also, I have no idea what you are talking about. What promise? What forest? What is "winter"? None of these statements make any sense and therefore render your claim invalid. Before I can evaluate any of your claims, you must define for me the meaning of the word "promise"._

 _And how soon? Will you lay claim to what you believe to be yours in person? If not, please don't waste my time any longer._

 _With Greatest Respect,_

 _Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm_

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

After I had mastered archery from the back of a moving horse, my instructor set to work putting me through battle drills. I cannot describe the many diverse ways in which I was mock-murdered during this period. Though I had more-or-less mastered the bow, and though I had done the same while riding a galloping horse, I was as helpless as a newborn babe in combat situations. It is one thing knowing how to fling a pointy thing to stick into another thing with accuracy, but it is another to do the flinging of pointy things into other things while being attacked by other sharp and bludgery things from all directions. I was miserable at it; battle drilling was my worst trial so far, one in which my talent was very sparse and which I would only gain through pure grit alone.

One day, my father arrived to watch me get mock-stabbed in the back and shoved into the dust. It was embarrassing, my lack of ability, but I stood and brushed myself off and told my instructor I would try again. The second time, I also ended up with a face full of dust and humiliation. Again, I stood and requested more punishment/instruction.

"One moment," said my father.

"Yes?" I inquired, using a kerchief to remove some of the dust from my face.

"You have surprised me, Eren," he said.

"With my lack of skill after ten years of labor?" I asked.

"No," said he, with a small laugh. "With your determination."

I leaned upon my bow and waited for him to explain.

"I did not expect you to go this far," he said. "Nor so diligently. Nor to succeed so quickly."

"Quickly?" I asked, half-laughing, half-crying.

"You do know most elves take much longer to achieve mastery of a weapon," he said.

"I suppose most elves have more time than I do," I said.

"You have all the time in the world," he said.

"I am missing things that intrigue me every day," I said. "Every day is a lost opportunity. Every day that passes is gone to me forever. I am greedy for all the days I can manage to gain by finishing more quickly."

"I did not expect you to covet scribing in the Woodland Realm with such intensity," he said.

"It is where I want to be," I said simply.

"You are nearly ready," he said, "and due to your hard work, I will not fear for you any longer, not even in the darkest shadow. Thank you, Eren."

"Why should you thank me?" I asked.

"You have given me peace of mind regarding you," he said. "And I am proud of you."

I felt a warm glow at his words, and I smiled spontaneously. From that moment, I gained a new resurgence of determination, and I worked with my instructor as diligently as he would allow. That said, I was not the most talented student my instructor had ever had, and so it took three more years before I was able to rebuff, dodge, and outmaneuver his battle drills he put me through.

During the next year, he took me out of Rivendell for some "real" experience. We started with a rabid warg that was wandering the hills, which I found very little difficulty with disposing of once my instructor told me which part of the warg to shoot. Then we moved on to crows believed to be the spies of Sauron, which I had no problem at all with shooting en masse. The moving targets were a challenge, but one I picked up quickly due to all my experience with shooting from horseback. We scouted for orcs, then, and upon finding a few, and after I swallowed my immense terror, we engaged and ended their lives. I didn't like that part, despite loathing orcs. I didn't like it. I knew I could fight them if I had to, and I knew I could get rid of them if I had to, but I didn't want to if I didn't have to. I still didn't like war, and wanted nothing to do with it. The difference now was that I could defend myself if necessary.

All in all, once I had rewritten all the histories, mastered archery, mastered archery on horseback, mastered battle skills, and had a year of practical battle training, it had been a total of seventeen years. I hadn't seen Thranduil for seventeen years, and I was ready to see him again.

 _Dear Thranduil, Elvenking,_

 _I am coming in three days. Prepare thyself._

 _Always,_

 _Some Scribe Somebody Knew Once_

I charged into my father's office with my instructor, as if I was on a very important mission, which I was.

"Father," I said as we entered, and my father looked up to observe me, glancing once at my instructor.

"Yes?" he inquired, though I think he knew what was coming.

"I am ready to go to the Greenwood," I said.

My father looked at the instructor.

"She is prepared," said my instructor.

True to his word, my father nodded.

"Very well," he said, and he looked pleased with me. "I look forward to hearing news from you as soon as possible. When will you leave?"

"Tonight," I said.

"So soon?" he asked.

"I have waited seventeen years, Father," I said.

He looked wry and stood.

"Then I will embrace you and let you go," he said, and he did, and I embraced him back.

I now know for a truth that adversity makes one stronger.

The speed with which I rode through the Misty Mountain pass, across the plains of the Great River, and toward the growing darkness of Mirkwood was only slowed by the pace my companions could manage. Father had sent two guards with me, with horses to carry some of my belongings, but far less of a party than last time. I was ever insistent that we move forward, and it felt as if they were continually holding me back. As if I were a wolf on a leash, anxious to go faster and pulling, pulling on the cord.

I no longer wore the same finery that I once did; I wore detailed leather armor over my arms and torso, but beneath was a dress with a split skirt for riding made of Rivendell blue. I wore a cloak as well in the same color, but laced with silver. On my back was my favorite bow, carved of mallorn-wood, and a quiver full of arrows with feathers the color of doves. I felt ready for anything, perhaps even the spiders of Mirkwood.

As we arrived at the edge of Mirkwood, I paused. It had changed in nearly forty years. It was even darker than it once was, and decayed, disused, sometimes dead. My heart ached for the Greenwood it once was, and I yearned for its return once the shadow was defeated.

I removed my bow and gestured for the guards to follow me with their horses, and we entered the Mirkwood. Listening intently for the sounds a spider might make, I instead heard a most welcome voice.

"Lady Eren," said Legolas, appearing on the path before us, "you seem to be right on time."

"Prince Legolas!" I cried, and left my horse right away to hug him. "How does the pathway look?"

"Passable," he said, glancing behind him. "I've put down the worst of them, and if we move quickly, they won't regroup fast enough to assault us. Tauriel is scouting yonder, past the first hill."

"Let's go," I said, leading my horse to follow him.

We made quick time, and were fortunate enough not to be attacked by anything, except the excitement of arriving. As the beautiful gates of the Woodland Realm came into view, I wanted to hug them, just like I'd hugged Legolas, but I couldn't. They were gates. My joy was great, regardless.

I dismounted and followed Legolas and Tauriel inside.

"Would you like refreshment?" asked Legolas.

"No," I said. "I want to see the king."

"Then you shall see the king," said Legolas, maybe a little amused.

Tauriel parted with us to manage her work in the field, and Legolas and I made straightaway for the throne room. The purpose with which I entered the throne room could not have been greater had I held the Ring of Power itself; there was nothing that would stop me, and no cause that would keep me from taking my rightful place. As we strode into the room, Thranduil was upon his throne, and his counselors were glancing behind them to see who had entered. They scattered to the sides as Legolas and I approached, for so intent was my gaze upon the Elvenking that no one would stand in my way. We reached the base of his throne and stopped.

Thranduil was sitting in his usual way; one leg crossed over the other, his sumptuous russet-lined robe open over his heavily embroidered tunic and pale leggings, with tall leather boots, rings upon his fingers, and his crown, sunlit by a bloom of light that broke through the haze above, sharp, cruel, entwined with leaves and thorns of summer. I took in the sight of him as much as I liked, for I liked the sight of him, I had missed this sight, and I wanted to commit him to memory.

He did not stand as I arrived, or change his position at all. He merely watched me with a faint smile on his face, and a sharp challenge in his eyes which I wanted, accepted, and returned.

"For what purpose have you come to the Woodland Realm, Lady Eren of Rivendell?" he asked.

"To be the scribe of King Thranduil of the Greenwood," I replied.

"So shall it be," he rejoined, and then he glanced at the current royal scribe. "You are relieved of your duties, immediately."

-ooOOoo-


	12. Entry Twelve: In the Woodland Realm

-ooOOoo-

Entry Twelve:

My first day back in the Woodland Realm was the best day of the previous thirty-seven years.

Once Thranduil had dismissed the current royal scribe and reinstated me as his royal scribe, I sat at my desk and immediately began to scribe the court, wearing my armor, weapons, and all. I noticed Thranduil's counselors eyeing me from time to time when they thought I wasn't looking, as if wondering what had happened to me during my absence. I ignored them because I was too engaged with watching Thranduil when I had the chance, between sentences. I was pleased he did the same. In fact, it was difficult to wait for court to be over because I wanted to talk to him so badly.

He seemed to rush court, anyway.

"We are adjourned," he said.

"But what about-," began one of his counselors.

"We will resume tomorrow," he said, descending from his throne. "If the royal scribe would please come to my library, I have a letter to dictate."

As I followed Thranduil into his library, he moved to stand beside his desk, so familiar, and it filled me with joy to watch the familiarity of him unfold for me at last.

"Close the door," he said.

I felt very aware of the sound the door made when I closed it, because afterward Thranduil and I were alone. I turned to face him, across the room, and realized he'd already been studying me.

"You look different than I remember," he said.

"Do I?" I inquired, knowing I did.

"Yes," he said, taking his time considering me. "Stronger. More able. More… sure."

I smiled at him.

"You look the same as before," I said. "But not the same as in Lothlorien."

He paused.

"The same as _before_ ," I said. "When I first knew you."

He maintained silence on the subject.

"But I am not averse to any version of you," I said.

He smiled a little and glanced down at his desk, then, drawing a breath, he said, "I believe I have an apology letter to write."

"Oh, yes!" I delighted.

"Please," he said, giving me a sidelong glance, "don't sound so thrilled."

"Oh, yes," I said, more deadened.

It appeared as if he might have laughed, under other circumstances, but he kept it all under wraps, for now.

"You may sit at my desk," he said, gently, even softly. He gave me chills with his voice, somehow.

"Very well," I said, pretending as if his voice had no effect upon me at all.

I arranged my scribing materials on his desk as I liked, and then looked up at him to begin.

He, in the middle of the room, gazed down upon me at his desk, and then a faint smile crossed his features, and he turned aside and began to dictate:

"To Lord Elrond of Rivendell," he said, lifting his chin slightly, as if he were in the room with my father, and speaking directly to him like an Elvenking to an Elvenlord. "It is with great humility that I must write to you and apologize for taking your precious daughter into the middle of the Battle of Five Armies. There are many things I would do differently, if I had the chance to do so, and this is one of them."

I wondered what those other things were, and filed that thought away for pursuit another time.

He paused, as if considering his next words.

"If any harm had come to her, it would not be remiss for you to refuse to forgive me," he said, turning to the side to add: "I would not have been able to forgive myself."

Something about that pricked my emotions, but I wrote, covering any reaction I might have, and he went on:

"I can see that you have directed her to become more self-reliant," he said, turning to look me over, "and she has taken up the task with fervor, as is her way when she is after something that she truly wants."

I glanced at him, and he gave me a subdued smile.

"She is clearly changed for the better, and I believe she will be able to hold her own if dire circumstances should come," he said, pacing a few steps across the floor.

I wondered how he could tell that from simply observing me scribe these past few hours.

"That said," he went on, and then sighed in thought and looked toward the ceiling. "I will care for her with great anxiety while she is in the Greenwood, for she is precious to you… but not only to you."

That last phrase sent a jolt through me, because I knew what he meant by it. I felt my face flush, though I tried desperately to hide it as I finished writing, and then waited for more as professionally as I could manage. He didn't speak for a few moments, so I looked up and caught his gaze which was soft and helpless. His lips parted to speak and I watched them.

"Humblest Regards," he said, "King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm."

How difficult that I had to tear my eyes away from him to finish writing, and in the time during which I signed his name, he had crossed the room to be beside me, and was opening the drawer to my immediate left to pull out wax and his seal. I put my quill down as he rummaged in the drawer.

"Well," I said. "I did not expect such a letter to be dictated by the grand Thranduil, Elvenking of Mirkwood."

"What is the matter with it?" he inquired, placing the seal on the desk and pulling a lit candle closer.

I started folding the letter neatly in thirds as I said, "Nothing is the matter with it. It's just that when I first met you, I...,"

Somehow, I lost the nerve to go on. Thranduil glanced down at me.

"You…," he prompted.

I finished with the letter, making sure it was perfectly aligned.

"I thought you were the haughtiest looking elf I had ever laid eyes upon," I said.

That made him laugh, and he warmed the wax over the candleflame.

"And so today, when you said I look like how you remember me _when we first met_ , that is what you meant?" he asked, looking amused and sliding the letter from my hands to drip drops of red wax on the fold. I picked up his seal.

"No, of course not," I said, "But also yes."

 _Drip, drip, drip._ I traded him the seal for the wax, and he stamped into the malleable red blob.

"I see," he said, his seal making a clean release. "Opaque as usual."

I touched his hand and he stopped all movement, and so I took my time in enjoying his undiluted attention, for it was mine, now, after so many years, as if I had earned it, as if I were _entitled_ to it, or entitled to _him_. I traced the curve of his rings around his fingers with the tips of my own fingers, and I spoke, though while keeping my eyes on the desk, or his hand, or the seal which he slowly dropped:

"Should I try to explain to you how much joy I felt in seeing you again, here, exactly as you are?" I asked.

"I will not discourage you," he replied.

"I wonder if I can," I said, toying with one of his rings, turning it around his finger. "I wonder if it is possible to put into words."

"I am without doubt that if you should desire to do so, you will manage it," he replied.

"It was as if I had lived years upon years in on a barren, dry, parched rock," I said, twisting one of his rings, a silver one, with a blue stone, as if to take it from his finger. "And then I finally gained access to a magic door, one which opened to a lush, warm, beautiful, magnificent garden. Relief, at last."

"Are you comparing me to a garden?" he asked, helping me remove his ring.

"No, silly," I said, glancing askance at him, and then inspecting the freed ring in my hand. "But the feeling which I got from seeing you was like that."

He leaned his hands upon the desk and regarded me as I slid his ring upon my middle finger. It was loose, but not in danger of falling off.

"Shall I describe the feeling I had when I first saw you again?" he asked, taking my hand in his and running his thumb over his ring upon my finger. I attempted to stay focused, and did mostly well.

"Please," I said.

"I felt surprise."

And that was all he said.

I laughed, pulling my hand from his.

"You're going to have to do better than that," I said.

"It's true," he said. "I didn't offer to describe the second, or third feelings that followed that one, which would be more difficult and possibly embarrassing to articulate."

"Then I must request," I said.

"And I will deny," he replied.

"Do not deny me," I warned.

"Why shouldn't I, when it brings me so much pleasure to do so?" he asked.

"You will regret this," I said.

"What would I regret, when I can look forward to you slowly wringing it from me?" he asked, perhaps rhetorically, picking up the finished letter from the desk. "Oh, how I missed having someone to do a decent job writing these."

"Your letters were truly pitiful," I remarked, putting away the wax and seal.

"Yet profound, I'm sure you meant to add," he said.

I stood and smiled at him.

"Yes, of course," I said. " _Profound._ "

"As it should be," he said, satisfied.

"Thank you, by the way," I said, glancing at the letter, "for keeping your promise."

"It was the least I could do," he said. "I would have moved mountains, if I could, to bring you back here. Instead, all I had to do was write a letter that I probably should have written a long time ago."

He had a way of inserting deeply meaningful statements in the middle of mundane ones, so I never had enough time to fully digest their impact before we had moved on.

"Why didn't you write it long ago?" I asked.

"I didn't want to," he said, evasive.

"That's a terrible reason," I said.

"The time wasn't right," he said in a second attempt.

"Explain," I queried.

"Must I?" he replied, with a mock-weary face.

"Do it because I love the sound of your voice," I said.

His reaction to my statement was worth the risk of saying it, for though it was only momentary that he allowed my effect to show, that instant of flushed thrill on his face gave me everything I needed for a hundred years. Quickly, though, he moved into a wry gaze and said, "Empty compliments will get you nowhere, my dear."

"Or everywhere," I said.

He laughed, and it made me smile. I had missed the sound of his laugh. It fed something in me and brought sunshine into my depths.

"You have another promise to keep, by the way," I said.

"Again, really," he said with longsuffering. "Another request?"

"You must answer one question," I said, holding up a finger.

"Oh, look at the time," he said. "It's certainly getting late, isn't it?"

I narrowed my eyes at him, and he attempted to look innocuous, so I decided to call his bluff.

"Good night," I said with a false smile, turning to leave.

"Wait," he said, grabbing my arm.

"I thought it was getting late," I said.

"Not _that_ late," he said.

I smiled at him.

"Don't you want to know what the question is?" I asked.

"No," he said, "but yes. Also no."

"You're afraid of it?" I asked.

"Of course, I am," he said, as if that was the silliest thing in the world to ask.

I looked at him for a long moment, and held his gaze, feeling compassion on him. Perhaps tonight wasn't the night to go into that which I had been burning to ask him for decades. I felt at that moment that I would have all the answers I wanted… in time. I pulled his hand from my arm and then stepped close to touch his face.

"Another time," I said to him.

He looked down on me as if he knew I would have all things in time, and he would relinquish them to me. Gone was the stubborn refusal to release what was his; he was ready for me to have the best and the worst of him. I could be patient. I stepped away and smiled at him.

"It really is getting late, I'm afraid," I said.

"I suppose it is," he said, perhaps regretting mentioning it earlier.

"Good-night, Your Majesty," I said.

He only smiled, and handed the letter to me.

"Would you give that to Golwendir on your way home?" he asked.

Home was here, now, and perhaps had been for a long time.

"Of course," I said, and I quit the room, but I left suffused with a certain glow.

-o0o-

I worked in Thranduil's court, and was on the ground, so to speak, in the spreading of the shadow in Rhovanion, and though the shadow filled us all with dread, I wouldn't have wished to be anywhere else. I knew what was happening. I was a personal witness to it.

Sometimes I would go out with Legolas and Tauriel to drive back the spiders and orcs that threatened to overrun the wood. At first, they didn't want to let me come with them, but after a lot of cajoling, they allowed me on an 'easy' hunt. We ambushed a pair of spiders spinning webs south of the main road, and they let me go after them under their supervision. I will admit to being frightened, they were giant spiders after all, and after I snuck up on and took out the first one, the second one began an erratic sprint in my direction, requiring fast thought. I nearly buckled under the panic, but my years of training came to my rescue and I shot it perhaps four times more than necessary. Still, Legolas and Tauriel were thrilled with my 'triumph' and let me tag along when it wasn't anything they deemed too dangerous.

One evening, as I sat at Thranduil's desk after a dictation, I broached the subject of my father, or I tried to.

"Would you mind if I-," I began, but paused.

"If you…?" he inquired, glancing at me.

"How do you feel about-," I began again, but squinted.

Thranduil just looked at me.

I pursed my lips, then asked, "Are you opposed to me writing to my father?"

"Of course, not," he said.

"Well, what I mean is," I said, "writing _whatever I want_ to my father."

"What do you plan on writing to your father?" he asked.

"The things that are happening here," I replied.

"Ah, you will spy, then?" he said.

"Is it spying if you know I'm doing it?" I asked.

"A fair point," he replied, and then he leaned against the side of the desk and crossed his arms as he considered.

"Let me say this," I said, pointing at him with my quill. "I love the Woodland Realm."

He glanced at me.

"Perhaps more than Rivendell," I revealed.

His eyebrows raised at that.

"But that isn't for certain," I said, waving a hand. " _Regardless,_ I can't imagine any circumstance where I would do anything that would be harmful to your kingdom, because it is quite dear to me."

"I believe that," he said.

"I want nothing to happen to it," I said.

"Neither do I," he replied.

"In fact, I want it restored," I said.

"Do you?" he asked, interested.

"So badly I can taste it," I said. "I hate the darkness creeping through the forest that turns it into Mirkwood, and I hate the creatures that invade in the shadow, and I will hunt them as often as Prince Legolas will allow me to join him to have a hand in driving them out. I will not rest until Dol Guldur is cast down and the shadow is vanquished."

Thranduil gazed at me for a long moment.

"That's why I trust you," he said, and then he shifted, moving to pace a step or two.

"Is something on your mind?" I inquired, watching him.

"Yes," he said, and then drew a breath and let it out. "I've received word from Lady Galadriel that Sauron is growing in power in the south, in Mordor."

"How can we stop him?" I asked, as if ready to charge in and remove Sauron myself.

"It isn't that simple," he said, looking at me with a mixture of amusement and longsuffering. "We cannot simply march down to Mordor and destroy him. He is too powerful to be destroyed while the Ring still exists. We would be destroyed, instead."

After that, it seemed as if Thranduil fell into a memory that brought conflict in his brow. He shifted his eyes to the side and cleared his throat. I wanted to ask; I wanted to ask _so badly_.

"Thranduil," I began, an eagerness I couldn't stop in my voice. He closed his eyes and appeared pained in response. Did he know what was coming? How could he?

"Eren, wait," he said, his voice weakened. He glanced at me as if asking for mercy.

I yielded, but we hung suspended in a dense miasma, wherein he still held onto his secrets, but barely, and I wanted them, scarcely holding myself back from taking them from him. Neither could be settled from this imbalance until one of us relented. Then an idea occurred to me, one which might make this easier.

I stood, and he watched me.

"I believe it is time for me to become more well-acquainted with the histories of the Woodland Realm," I said, walking toward him.

He blinked, then eyed me, lacking trust. I suppose he did tend to know when I was up to something.

"I'll ask Golwendir to show me them in the morning," I said as I stopped and smiled up at him. He was not amused.

"And for what will you search?" he asked.

"I'm not certain," I said, shrugging and glancing around, as if the answer was to be found nearby.

"How dare you force my hand," he said.

"I've no idea what you might be talking about," I said, giving him a sidelong look. "If I'm going to live here for the foreseeable future, shouldn't I know the history of the government in which I reside?"

"You know that I know what you are doing," he said, "and yet you continue to pretend as if it will work."

"Are you saying I'm not allowed to read the histories?" I asked.

"You are," he said. "You're allowed to do anything you want, here, and even if you weren't, you would do it anyway."

"Very good," I said. "Then it's settled."

"It is _not_ settled," he objected.

"Tell me what isn't settled about it," I requested.

"Your impatience," he said.

"A personal flaw," I admitted.

"Do try to control it," he said.

"But without my impatience, I would still be in Rivendell," I said.

"Perhaps a flaw can be a strength in certain situations," he acquiesced.

"Or perhaps it isn't a flaw at all," I offered.

"You've just said it was," he said.

"I've changed my mind," I said.

"Can I change mine?" he inquired.

"About what?" I asked.

"Welcoming you back to my kingdom," he said, weary humor on his features.

"I beg your pardon," I replied, mock-outraged. "It was I who orchestrated my triumphant return to your kingdom, not _you_."

"Yes, but I could have tossed you out straightaway," he said. "Instead I let you stay and… _proliferate_."

"Like a weed," I offered.

"That's fitting," he agreed.

"It's not too late to get started," I said.

"Tossing you out?" he asked.

"No," I said, "It's far too late for that."

"Drat," he said.

"It's not too late to begin giving me your personal lectures on the history of the Woodland Realm," I said, "and most specifically, with regards to _your_ involvement in it."

"This again, already?" he asked. "Wouldn't you rather we go climb in the trees together instead?"

It was tempting.

"You're a king," I said with a reproving glance. "You don't have time to go climb trees whenever you want."

"Have you become boring?" he asked in awe.

"I've always been boring," I said. "You simply forgot to notice."

"Alas," he lamented.

"I don't mind doing personal research," I ventured.

He sighed at me.

"I will never be able to comprehend how you are the daughter of Elrond," he said.

"You won't?" I asked.

"Although perhaps I begin to see how you are the granddaughter of Lady Galadriel," he said, considering me. "Yes, it does make sense, now that I think about it."

"What are you saying?" I asked.

"Don't be dense," he chided, and then: "Your ability to cut right to the heart of things, almost as if you already _know_ one's deepest thoughts and emotions. Have you honestly never noticed?"

"No," I said, feeling exactly as dense as he'd just told me not to be.

He laughed.

"What madness," he remarked. "How interesting. Well, it should be an enjoyable skill for you to develop."

"Wait," I said, holding up a hand. "We have not settled on this being an actual skill with which I am endowed. It is merely a theory put forth by _you_ , a person who barely knows me."

"I know you," he said, as if he knew everything there was to know about me. Something about the way he said it made me start to blush.

"Hardly," I said, glancing aside, refusing his surety.

He was silent until I shifted my gaze back to him, and there I found him smiling at me as if he _knew things._ When I spoke again, I struggled to make my voice solid and unaffected by his sudden change.

"We have hardly been in each other's presence for an entire year, if you put all the times together," I said. "How could you begin to know me?"

He didn't seem to care that we had known each other so briefly it seemed like less than a blink in elfin years.

"I know you enough to know I want to be with you as often as I can manage," he said.

"Which is surely because you love dictating letters more than anything else in the world," I dodged.

"Shall we do another one?" he inquired.

I didn't expect that.

"If you… would like," I meandered, taking a step toward his desk.

"Very good," he said, waiting for me to sit at the desk and get parchment ready.

"Go ahead," I said, once I was prepared.

"Dear Eren," he said, and I glanced up at him in confusion. He gave me an impatient look until I relented and let him go on with whatever he was up to. "How are you? I am fine."

Now it was my turn to give him a bored look. He gestured for me to continue scribing, and so I did.

"I must confess something to you: I have been waiting for you to wear green since you arrived, and you haven't done so once," he said. "I must wonder if it is merely an oversight, or if you are intentionally withholding yourself in green out of spite towards me."

I opened my mouth, but Thranduil held up a finger to stop me from speaking.

"On to the next subject: the histories of the Woodland Realm, or more specifically, the Greenwood," he said.

 _This_ I was interested in, and I wrote dutifully.

"If you must research, and you must know," he said, and then there was a long pause. "You may wish to study the battle of Dagorlad."

I committed the name to memory, I wrote it on my heart.

"Please, if you choose to do so, I ask that you attempt delicacy in your communications with anyone regarding the subject," he said, and his voice was softer, "and perhaps you and I can discuss it… later."

He grew quiet and still, and as I looked over at him, there was a pain in his features I suddenly wished I could erase. He closed his eyes.

"You have wrenched it from me," he said, his voice falling near a whisper. "I hope you are appeased. I hope it satisfies whatever it is in you that pulls and pulls at me, wanting and taking, drawing from me that which aches and tears."

I tried, but I couldn't write, I was so transfixed by his words.

"Why do you want to make me bleed, Eren?" he asked, and then a whisper: "Why do I let you?"

I drew a ragged breath and dropped my quill. He opened his eyes and shot me with a sharp glance.

"Why are you not writing?" he demanded, anger behind his voice.

I stood up, the chair behind me falling back with the force of it, and I crossed the room to where he was. He gazed at me with anger, but I saw straight through the anger; I knew it stemmed from the defense of his vulnerability, and I tore through it like a lion, taking his robes into my hands and engaging his gaze with my own, with equal force.

"I stopped writing because I've been waiting for you to say those things to me for decades," I said to him.

"You can't have possibly been waiting for those things to be said," he retorted, grasping my wrists.

"I wanted them," I said, obstinate. "I _wanted them_."

"Why?" he demanded, his voice rough.

"I don't know why," I said in frustration.

His grip tightened on my wrists, perhaps also out of frustration.

"I don't understand you," he breathed.

I pulled him down to me by his robes and I kissed him, and he relented; he relented so quickly it was as if he'd been on a knife's edge about it, and plunged into the depths with all the force of falling to one's death. We fell against his desk and kissed as if we had lost our minds; I think I did. It felt like pure, agonizingly delicious madness.

At last, after time became relative and nothing made sense anymore, he pulled away all at once, like bursting through the surface of a deep pool, and we both gasped for breath and struggled to regain our respective sanities. Perhaps it had been a minute, perhaps ten. I found couldn't form solid thoughts for some time afterward.

He sat down at his desk and held his head in his hands.

I leaned back against the desk, staying where I had been when he'd kissed me, and gripped the edge of the desk with the last vestiges of dying tension, remembering the fading sensation of being kissed whether I wanted to remember, or not. The truth was I couldn't resist remembering. The thrill of kissing him, of his mouth against mine, his sighs, and his hands shot through me even as the memories echoed.

We were silent for a long time, and I gazed at the wall.

"I think we're going to need to talk about some things," I ventured.

He made a sound as if that was funny and horrible at the same time.

I glanced over my shoulder to see him still with his head in his hands.

"Thranduil," I whispered, touching one of his hands.

"Hmn?" he said, not moving.

I curled my fingers around his in a gentle attempt to pry him out of his shell, and he released his hand and let me hold it on the desk as he looked up. He had that weary look on his face again, the one I remembered from my last day in the Greenwood, and from Lothlorien.

I didn't know how to properly begin whatever it was we needed to discuss, and perhaps had needed to discuss for seventeen years. It was perhaps the case that neither did he.

"So," I said, gently, and caressing his hand with mine, "I think I'll go look up those histories, tomorrow."

He gazed at our hands, and he was as gentle with my hand as I was with his.

"Will you," he inquired softly.

"Yes," I said, wanting to say more things but only being able to use the tenor of my voice to say them, instead of words.

He was so soft, so gentle, as he lifted my hand to his mouth and kissed it, and that was how he told me things he wouldn't let himself say. I was drawn in, and I found myself running my hand across his cheek, and he fell into it to kiss my palm, and we fed off each other's caresses until I was leaning across the desk and kissing him again, and he was kissing me, but this time it wasn't insanity, it was soft, intimate, slow, and deliberate.

His hand touched my neck as I leaned, and then drifted into my hair. I kissed him again and again, saying it again and again with my affection how I felt about him, and what a release it was! I hadn't known, or allowed myself to know, not until then, what I felt for Thranduil. How I loved to be with him; how I would be in anguish without him; how I never wanted to be parted from him. I wanted to stay there, near him, kissing him again and again, where it was simple. It was so simple to kiss him. No questions could be asked, no problems needed addressed. It was just us, and only us, and the raw emotion we felt between us, expressed without words or complications.

Slowly, in time, he pulled back a little, but kept his hand in my hair, and I was glad because I liked it there. As he withdrew from our kisses, he gazed at me with open adoration, and I liked that, too. I watched his face as he thought, as the impending problems invaded our space, and as his adoring gaze gained threads of despair.

I didn't want to talk about it, not now, so I kissed him one more time, softly, and then pulled away, leaning up from the desk and then shifting away from it, moving into the room to straighten myself. I drew a breath and sighed it out, then turned back to Thranduil.

He sat at his desk, watching me, and I found I adored him.

"Shall I clean up my scribing things?" I asked, glancing at them on the desk before him.

"Leave them," he said, gazing at me. "I'll want you, tomorrow."

The way he said that was… thrilling.

"But the histories…?" I mentioned.

"Find them and read them when you like," he said, "But once you're finished, I want you."

"For what do you want me tomorrow?" I asked.

"Just… come," he said.

"I will," I replied.

"It can't be quickly enough," he said.

"Thranduil," I said, short of breath.

He stood.

I found I badly wanted him to kiss me again. I thought he was going to; he crossed the room, but then he passed me and opened the door, perhaps with more force than was necessary.

"Leave," he said, his voice low with a tinge of pleading. He dragged his gaze away from me and glanced at the floor. "We will discuss this in more detail… tomorrow."

I understood.

"Very well," I said, and as I passed him our glances met. The heat that emanated from his glance nearly staggered me. My voice sounded weak as I said, "Good night."

"Until tomorrow," he said as I crossed into the hallway, and then he shut the door.

I then let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. Though I had been in denial over it, I could no longer avoid the truth: whatever was happening between Thranduil and I could no longer be ignored or pushed aside. It was serious.

However, I decided, as was my way, that I would worry about that _tomorrow._

-ooOOoo-


	13. Entry Thirteen: To Tame an Elk

_**A/N: Thank you for reading and for the reviews, they are kind and priceless. I drew a picture to go with this chapter, at my DeviantArt page, colbyfromage, titled "Woodland Elk Color".**_

-ooOOoo—

 _To Mr. Bailen Surrey, E.M._

 _Academiae Hall, Old Minas Tirith, Gondor_

 _Mr. Surrey,_

 _The insurrection in Rhovanion has been put down, as per your request, with minimal loss of life. The artifacts have been secured and your team has been reinstated in Wiltshire, near the Green Wood. I am personally surveying that the work continues unmolested._

 _There has been a complaint filed with the local Rhovanion government which I will keep an eye upon._

 _Regards,_

 _Captain M. Tuniel of Gondor_

 _Post House, Wiltshire, The Green Wood, Rhovanion_

-ooOOoo—

Entry Thirteen:

The next day I headed straight toward the libraries; I was on a mission. I was going to find out about _Dagorlad_ … whatever that was. I caught Golwendir on my way.

"Good morning, Golwendir," I remarked joyfully.

"It does seem to be," he replied. "Are you headed to court, Lady Eren?"

"Not yet," I said. "I need to find something in the Greenwood histories, and wondered if you might help me find it quickly."

"What is it?"

"Dagorlad," I said.

Golwendir paused, as if oscillating between possible responses, and not sure which was the best one.

"Does the king know you seek these histories?" ventured Golwendir.

"Yes," I replied, feeling confident.

Again, Golwendir seemed set off balance by my reply, as if he hadn't expected it. Eventually, however, he seemed to become either resigned or to wash his hands of it and he complied.

"Very well," he said. "I will give them to you."

In the library, Golwendir dropped onto a thick wooden table several bound sheaves of parchment which looked very old. In fact, sitting as I was nearby as if being served a delicious meal instead of several histories, I sneezed at the dust from them.

"Court starts in an hour," he said, and he deserted me. I wondered momentarily why he had become so standoffish regarding supplying me with these histories, but I couldn't spare another thought for anything but the reading of what was before me.

Thus, I began to unravel, cruelly and mercilessly, the scars, failures, suffering, and regrets of Thranduil.

I had known some of the history of the Second Age, for there were few in all Middle Earth, elf, man, even bird or beast, who didn't know of Sauron and the apocalyptic battle in which every free creature fought on either one side or the other until Sauron was defeated… or so we thought until recently. I knew of the War of the Last Alliance, though I had to admit that I had never been the most studious historian in Rivendell, and I didn't know the details. I suppose it made sense that Thranduil had fought in those battles; everyone and everything in Middle Earth did, but it was beyond my realm of knowledge, especially from a _Rivendell_ perspective, what the kings of the Woodland Realms of the Greenwood and Lothlorien had done.

It turned out Dagorlad was the name of the war-plain where the greatest battle was fought at the Black Gates, one in which the kings of Lothlorien and the Greenwood had rebelled and preempted the Alliance under the leadership of Gil-galad, high king of the Noldor (which included my father), and attacked Sauron's forces first… with disastrous results for them and their armies. Thranduil's father, Oropher, and Amdir, king of Lothlorien, died in the battle because of their insurrection, and so did more than two-thirds of the Woodland army. Thranduil alone led the remaining elves home to the Greenwood, and a peculiar amount of time passed before he declared himself king of the Woodland Realm. As for Lothlorien, it never had a king, again.

Even as I read it, despite the awfulness of the plain historical truth, I knew there was far more subtlety to this than the mere facts on the page, and I burned to know the rest of it from Thranduil's mouth.

Then I looked up and realized I was extremely late for court.

As I rushed into the throne room, I apologized profusely for my truancy and threw myself into my scribing supplies. Golwendir had been scribing in my absence, and removed himself as soon as I arrived, barely giving me a glance.

I looked up at Thranduil's counselors and realized they were watching me, and then I looked at Thranduil, and he was doing the same.

"Is everything well?" I inquired.

"Yes," said Thranduil, though he was watching me as if trying to gauge me somehow. Everything was so clearly _not_ well that I wanted to call his bluff… but I didn't.

I nodded, and then decided to pretend as if everything was normal, and as if I was prepared to scribe, and that this was a normal day at court. After a brief hesitation, Thranduil and his counselors continued the mundanities of managing his kingdom.

Some hours passed; court ended. Thranduil descended his throne while the rest of us stood for him to leave. He did not look at me as he walked by. I mused to myself how he could run hot and cold in such maddening swings.

Determining that Thranduil needed to be by himself for whatever reason, I sat down at my desk again and worked on compiling documents. The counselors left shortly after Thranduil; the guards as well. I was alone in the throne room and found it a pleasant, peaceful experience.

After finishing a compilation, I stretched in my chair and looked up at the strange throne which was Thranduil's. I wondered if his father's had been like it, if it was evocative of the Woodland Realm style, or if it reflected Thranduil's own taste. I wondered how much of the current Woodland Realm style was influenced by that which Thranduil liked, since he had ruled the place for thousands of years, and how much of it was a conglomeration of Sindar and Silvani culture. How much of the Woodland Realm was Thranduil, and how much of Thranduil was the Woodland Realm? I found they could not be extricated, as they were roots which had grown together and fused, preventing separation, and were confusingly intermingled. I could not tell one from another.

The shaft of sunlight which hit the throne once per day was aloft, and perhaps this was my favorite time in the throne room, when the light was amber suffused with blue-green in the vacuous space, and in summer it was warm. Tiny motes of dust glittered in the ray of sun which lit the edge of Thranduil's throne with a bright-white bloom. I wanted to touch the knotted wood where the sun warmed it, for the texture of the wood with the warmth of the sun proved an irresistible mix where my tactile senses were concerned. I mounted the throne's stair and ran my hand across it, observing the minute tawny striations in the wood beneath my hand, and the dense warmth from the sun did not disappoint.

I then turned to observe what the world looked like from Thranduil's perspective, when he sat upon his throne. I don't quite know how to put into words why that was interesting to me, but it was. I had never viewed the room from here myself, though I had watched him do so countless times. Perhaps there is something about viewing things from someone else's perspective that helps one understand another person. Perhaps, contrariwise, there is nothing to that at all.

All at once, I was surprised when the throne room doors opened and Thranduil entered, and I realized I was standing in front of his throne, which was something I had never seen anyone do. His step slowed when he saw me, and he appeared to be attempting to discern what I was doing there. I realized I could go in one of two directions: I could apologetically descend and awkwardly explain what I had been doing, or I could do what I did next.

As he walked towards the dais, I held his gaze and very deliberately sat upon his throne. His eyes widened at my provocation, and I took it further; I crossed one leg over the other and I _lounged_ upon it, with a challenge in my eyes. I did my best impression of _him_ , and it was probably excellent, because I watched as he battled consternation and outrage over my clear disregard for his authority and a distressing blush that he couldn't fully suppress. He hated what I was doing _and he_ _liked it_ , both at once, I knew it, and he swallowed the challenge in my gaze as if it quenched his thirst for blood.

"Have you come to take my kingdom?" he asked, his voice betraying only a little of his discord.

I ran my fingers, using the hand which bore his seized ring, over the arm of his throne, caressing the twisted wood, as if I were considering it.

"Shall I?" I asked, and then glanced at him.

He looked as if he would either tear me from his throne or ravage me with passionate kisses (or both) if I didn't change tack, and so I diverted as swiftly as I could manage.

"I have a confession to make," I said, shifting to sit up.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I wanted to view your perspective," I said, with a grin.

He seemed to find that amusing, and ridiculous.

"Get down," he said.

"Oh," I said.

"Now," he said.

I stood up.

"Why have you come back to the throne room?" I asked as I descended.

"I came for you, actually," he said.

"Oh?" I inquired, moving to put my scribing things away.

"Yes," he said. "I thought… you might like to come with me into the forest to tame an elk."

"Would I," I exclaimed, finding the idea quite appealing.

He laughed softly.

"I will warn you," he said. "It might be boring."

"I've already told you I'm boring," I said.

"That's what you've told me," he said, looking dubious.

He bade me get my light armor and my bow, for he said one never knows what one might encounter in the wood, and he removed himself to change into what looked like his traveling gear and sword. Once we were out, upon the surface, I found the fresh air of summer a delight to my senses. We crossed between the twisted trunks of ancient trees, and climbed up the hill to the feasting grounds. I noticed that, behind us, a pair of guards followed at a certain distance.

"Oh," I said. "They're there."

"Indeed, they are," he said. "You wouldn't expect a king to wander about outside without protection, would you?"

"Why would you need them when you have me?" I asked, perhaps a bit cocky.

"Perhaps it is you from whom I need protection," he said with a sideways smile.

"You're certainly capable of protecting yourself, I should say," I argued, glancing at his sword.

"From many things," he agreed, and then he added, "but not from you."

I felt as if that was an odd and funny thing to say, but I allowed it.

We crossed through the feast grounds and I found myself longing for the upcoming midsummer feast. It had been almost forty years since I had enjoyed a Greenwood feast, and I had missed the experience terribly.

I glanced at Thranduil and he caught my gaze.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I miss dancing with you," I admitted.

"I do too," he said, and then after a moment, "I haven't danced since you left."

"How miserable," I said.

"I didn't notice before, during the many years before you came," he said. "But after…"

He trailed off and didn't finish.

I wanted to touch his hand but I knew the guards were somewhere behind us. Maybe he did need them to protect himself from me.

We hiked through the woods until we came to a place where the thick trees opened to brush and ferns that sloped down to a stream which meandered in and out of the forest. Thranduil strode towards a large, flat stone.

"Where is the elk?" I asked, seeing nothing of fauna anywhere.

"It's not here, yet," he said, and he sat upon the stone, leaving room for me as well.

I sat beside him, observing him curiously.

"Now we wait," he said.

I glanced out at the brush.

"I told you it might be boring," he said with a smile. "Keep your voice soft, if you will."

We sat upon the stone and the afternoon began to fade towards evening, and we talked in soft tones while the two guards, unseen but known, dwelt in the trees.

"Thranduil," I said, knowing my voice was soft enough that the guards would never know a word we said together, "Why was everyone tense when I came into the throne room this morning?"

"Because we knew you were reading the history of Dagorlad in the library," he said.

"Golwendir told you all?" I asked, surprised.

"He felt as if it were important that he do so, since it was a matter of security," he said.

"How was it a security matter?" I asked. "That history is available to all, is it not?"

"It is," he said, "but few know it now, and you are an agent of Rivendell, and therefore an agent of the ancient nation of Noldor. Your father is of Noldor, he fought in solidarity with High Elvenking Gil-galad."

I stared at Thranduil as if I needed further explanation.

"The relationship of those from Noldor and those of the Woodland Realm were… how shall I put it… _strained_ for a very long time following the discord at Dagorlad," he said.

My stare turned into a sidelong gaze as I waited for more.

"It has perhaps never fully recovered," he said. "The line of kings in Lorien died out with Amdir, but I am the last remnant of leadership which defied the Noldorian elves. Your father's people. _Your_ people."

I looked down at the rock upon which we sat as I considered that.

"But I don't feel like those are my people," I said to Thranduil.

"But they are," he said.

"Is that why you didn't want to talk about it?" I asked.

"No," he said right away. "That is only one facet among a complicated number of hesitations."

"Then what-," I began, but he stopped me with his hand as he looked beyond me, towards the brush.

"There," he said softly, and I turned to see that a woodland elk had emerged from the high shrubs to drink from the stream. We watched it in silence.

I watched it drink and then raise its head, perhaps to look at us, though we remained as still and silent as we could manage. Its great horn span edged with faint pink in the gloaming of sunset, and the thick brown fur of its coat was fluttered by the evening breeze. I wondered in the magnificence of it; glorious, wild and uncontrolled, and the idea of it submitting itself as an ally to anyone seemed a prospect of magic, not nature.

We sat and continued to watch as it drank again. Perhaps it had judged us as unthreatening. After some minutes, it turned, and with the sound of hooves in peat and brush, it went back into the undergrowth and disappeared from our sight. I felt Thranduil relax beside me, and I looked at him.

"Well, then," he said, and then he stood up and held out a hand for me. "It looks like we are finished here."

"We are?" I asked as I stood, not familiar with the details of how one tames a woodland elk.

"Until tomorrow," he said.

"That was…," I meandered.

"Uneventful?" he asked, amused.

"Yes," I said, pointing at him as if he'd nailed it.

He laughed.

"That is how it will be, mostly," he said. "Taming a woodland elk is a long, arduous process."

The next evening, we went again to sit on the same rock.

"It's been a long time since your last elk fell in the war," I remarked as we settled in to wait. "Why have you waited so long to replace it?"

"Because I wasn't ready," he said.

I gazed at him, wondering if he would give me more information. He noticed my gaze, and my waiting, and then glanced down with a small sigh.

"I do grow attached to my mounts," he said. "Despite their short lives. I cannot bring myself to tame a new one in an instant."

He glanced back up at me as if my inquiry was absurd and that it was a little irritating that he had to explain himself.

"You mourned the loss of your elk, didn't you, after the war?" I asked.

"You understand," he remarked with a cordial nod.

I leaned back and considered him.

"That's nice," I said.

He laughed a little and said, "Does it seem that strange to do so?"

I shook my head.

"Not any stranger than anything else I've found in your realm," I said. "I've never experienced attachment to an animal. We do things differently in Rivendell, as you know."

"I do know," he said. "And it makes me wonder why you prefer to stay here."

"Because I love it here," I replied, and his smile turned shy and he avoided my gaze. It was, frankly, adorable.

"Thranduil," I said, leaning forward.

"Yes?" he replied.

"I take no umbrage with your people or your leadership, despite whatever questionable choices may have been made in the Second Age," I said. "I just felt like that had to be said. This age is a different one, and I feel as if you have overcorrected what happened in the past."

"Overcorrected?" he asked.

"And it isn't as if I would presume to have the right to proclaim judgment on the Woodland Realm, anyway," I said, ignoring his inquiry. "Who am I, and what have I done, and what do I know that gives me that privilege?"

"You pronounced, from the beginning, that your loyalty is, first and foremost, to your father," he replied. "I do hold you to that pronouncement."

"It's funny how things can get muddled in the details," I said, picking at the rock upon which we sat.

He was silent until I glanced up at him.

"What have you just said to me?" he asked, as if he were suspended between two ideas.

I glanced over him, sitting upon the rock in his travelling clothes, appearing crossed between hopeful and dubious and concerned, and I considered my words carefully.

"I don't wish to proclaim where my greater loyalty lies," I said, "because… I don't believe I know right now."

He looked pained and uncomfortable with my reply, and he looked away, to the distance. That gave me the opportunity to watch him, and he made no indication he knew that's what I was doing, though he must have. An evening breeze stirred loose strands of pale hair beyond his shoulders, and I watched his glance fall after a few moments.

He returned his eyes to me, which was what I wanted.

"Eren," he said, speaking my name with tremulous warmth.

Just then, the elk parted the brush, and we tore our eyes from each other to watch it drink from the stream.

The next night as we sat on the stone, I ran fresh out of the gates with an inquiry about Dagorlad.

"Will you tell me the tale of Dagorlad from your eyes?" I asked. "The histories have one perspective, but I want to know what is yours."

He was silent, pondersome, for a long time.

"Do you have any idea why I am averse to talking about it?" he asked, still closed, clenching his own personal history like a coiled fist.

"I do not," I replied.

"The memory is traumatic for not only myself, but for any of my people who remember," he said, and then, after a hesitation, he went on cautiously, "It was miraculous we did not all die that day. Perhaps we deserved to, for our recklessness."

"Of course, you didn't deserve to die!" I objected.

"Shh," he chided, glancing towards the brush. He turned a sober gaze upon me and said, "You weren't there; you cannot judge."

His face reflected a certain fatalistic despair which I knew was part of him all the way to his bones, and which he hid from the world almost always.

"Our dead lie lost in the marshes of Dagorlad plains," he said with sorrow. "There were so many."

I knew the dead included his father, and I felt empathy prick me, sharp, like a pinprick in the heart.

He was absorbed in his memories now, perhaps allowing himself, for once, to be lost in them.

"Do you know that every person, creature, beast, and bird in Middle Earth chose a side in the War?" he asked me.

"I did not," I replied.

"They did," he said, his voice soft, distant. "Even the dragons of the North."

He glanced away and seemed conflicted.

"Did you fight them?" I prompted.

"Stop," he said, his door closing.

"Thranduil, please," I begged, and he glanced at me and had mercy.

He sighed and leaned back on his hands, turning his gaze to regard the stream and brush, and then distant lands before us.

"Is it not enough for you to know the history from the records?" he asked me.

"I want to know why you are how you are," I said.

"Perhaps this is simply who I am," he said.

"But it seems that after the War of the Last Alliance, you became _too_ removed from the rest of the world, _too_ cautious, and _too_ careful with your people," I said.

"You can decide whether what I do is _too anything_ after you have ruled a people for millennia," he said, giving me a sharp glance.

"A fair point," I ceded. "However, it reads like an overcorrection."

"You mentioned that before," he said.

"What are you trying to evade?" I asked him. "Another crushing war… or your own erratic nature?"

He faded back like the breath had been knocked from his body, and turned aside as if to avoid me entirely. This, I could see, he did not want, for I had cut him to the quick. I was sorry, yet I was not, for I'd found a ledge on which to cling which I had not previously supposed to be there.

Gathering himself, he straightened and gazed off towards the brush, polishing over the previous moment's vulnerability with a king's rock-hard resolve.

"You overstep your bounds," he said.

I didn't reply, but only watched him, waiting.

He shifted his glance to me, and it was cold. I found his response fascinating; another layer built upon all those laid before, and I studied his face.

"I wish I could touch you," I said.

My statement seemed to make him angry.

"Why would you say that, now?" he demanded.

"Because I do," I said, gazing on him.

He made an irritated noise and looked away.

"Is your purpose in my life to test me?" he asked.

"I don't think so," I replied.

"That is all you have done from the moment you've come into my kingdom," he said.

"Then your purpose in my life must be to fascinate me," I said.

He glanced down.

"Because that's all you have done since I first saw you," I said.

His brow showed conflict and his breath shuddered.

"I cannot be away from you," I said, fervent, knowing, sure. "I cannot."

"You will not," he said, correcting me. "That is what you mean."

"They're the same for me," I said.

"Obstinate woman!" he oathed, his temper snapping, and too loud for elk-taming. "Sometimes what you want isn't the most important thing."

"I will not stop myself," I said, feeling stubborn about it.

"You _are_ here to test me," he said, fixing me with a resolute stare.

"I am here because I wanted to be with you," I said.

"You cannot be with me!" he seethed, as if furious at me and trying to reason with me at the same time.

"Yet, I am," I said, and the vague truth of it stung his countenance.

"Despite watchful guards, yet I fail," he said, his words low, clear, and laced with intensity: "Despite decades of separation, yet I fail. Despite every attempt my will can conceive, yet I fail, and you win, again, and again. How much will you take from me? How much do you want? Why will you not show mercy?"

"Mercy?" I asked. "How can I give you mercy, when I require it myself?"

"Why should you need mercy, Lady Eren, Breaker of Kings?" he asked with sallow humor in his sharp anger.

"Because I cannot live without you!" I said with sudden recklessness.

He inhaled sharply, and then chided me, "Do not say such things!"

"I cannot live without you," I insisted my point.

"You _will not_ ," he corrected.

"They are the same!"

"They are _not,_ " he said, arguing semantics, and I found myself crushed by frustration, tinged, a crack, a broken dam, and then bursting into tears. I covered my face to hide it, but it was impossible, for sobs struck me as well, and those could not be hidden. After a moment, I felt him roughly pull me towards him and then he took me into his arms.

I fell against his chest, relieved with the feeling of being near him again, with the warmth of him, with the sensation of his arms around me, and allowed the sobs which wracked me to mellow. It was perhaps the idea of living without him which had thrown me into such a state, or perhaps the fear of his rejection, or perhaps merely the strain of openly revealing what I had felt for years when under such clenched circumstances. Maybe it was everything pressed into one rigid, painful place, and, once cracked, I had to release it.

"Eren," he whispered, his lips pressed against my hair. "Despite all my attempts to the contrary, it appears that I will not live without you, either."

"You _cannot_ live without me," I murmured, watery, yet obstinate. He pulled me closer in response.

"But I must," he whispered, pained.

"No," I sighed.

"Yes," he murmured.

"No," I said, my fist in his robes.

"Yes," he said softly, gently, brushing a hand gently over my head, along my hair in a tender caress.

"No," I wept, my voice breaking.

He drew a ragged breath.

"Eren," he sighed against my brow.

"I love you," I gave him, and his resolve crumbled and he fell into my embrace, as if hiding within it, as if that could be the end, as if perhaps, if he pretended hard enough, nothing else would exist.

We held our embrace for a time, until the pressures of reality beat through our radiant shield. We heard hooves upon peat and turned to see the woodland elk standing nearby, perhaps judging us, but more likely disregarding us. It drank from the stream, its day being a normal day, with nothing out of the ordinary happening to it, and no horrible crises affecting its mood. I envied it, a little.

I looked at Thranduil, and saw the trace of a tear on his face. He returned my look with a sober one, and I gazed at him, asking without speaking, but he only glanced over my face with gentle, bittersweet affection and brushed a lock of my hair behind my ear. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to my ear. He hesitated only a moment.

"I love you, too," he breathed, and I caught my breath as it broke into a number of pieces in the aftermath of sobbing. I twisted my arms around his shoulders; I forced him against me, and he was pliant, and he kept his lips against my ear: "But do not be blinded, thinking it should be so easy."

"This is _not_ easy," I whispered, sharp yet affectionate, cruel yet desperate as I ran my hand into the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Do you not know," he whispered, his mouth and breath maddening and sensual against the hollow of my ear, "that the reason I have pushed you away and pushed you away is to spare you the pain you are sure to suffer if we are foolish enough to attempt this path?"

I sighed and cried, my whisper anguished: "Have I not suffered enough?"

He held me and his lips fell into my neck and I surrendered myself, compliant, willing, to his mouth and hands as he pushed me down to lie on the rock. We had just reached the glorious horizontal, when his weight pressed upon me and he shifted, up, up and I thought my senses would blind me, and there was the sound of a cleared throat, and it was neither of ours and we froze.

Thranduil pulled back enough to look down upon me, and his gaze was resigned, yet tender. He brushed back a strand of my hair, adoring.

"Now look what you've done," he said, so softly no one else would ever hear.

Then he sat up, and his heat was removed from me. I mourned the loss, yet noticed a guard was nearby, embarrassed.

"What is it?" Thranduil asked the guard, seeming tired.

I sat up with the shards of my dignity and attempted to piece them together.

"I apologize for the intrusion, Your Majesty," said the guard, who seemed deeply unsettled by what he had just witnessed. It was probably safe to say I was far, far more deeply unsettled by his intrusion, however. "But Gandalf the Grey has just arrived and wishes to see you right away."

Thranduil sat there for a moment and said nothing.

"What is the subject of his visit?" he asked, finally.

"He has brought a prisoner," replied the guard.

"A prisoner?" asked Thranduil, intrigued.

"Yes," said the guard, who seemed unsettled by the subject of the prisoner, as well. "I do not know of what race he is, for he is a wretched thing, but he said his name is Smeagol and he searches for the hobbit named Baggins."

-ooOOoo-


	14. Entry Fourteen: The Midsummer Feast

**_A/N: "But do not be blinded, thinking it should be so easy."_**

-ooOOoo—

 _To Captain M. Tuniel_

 _Post House, Wiltshire, The Green Wood, Rhovanion_

 _Captain:_

 _I would hope it was an exaggeration on your part to state that there was "minimal loss of life" in regaining access to the archaeological site in Wiltshire. Please tell me there was no loss of life whatsoever. If there was, please report details. It is my understanding that you were under the implicit direction that violence would be avoided unless absolutely necessary._

 _Regards,_

 _Mr. Bailen Surrey, E.M._

 _Academiae Hall, Old Minas Tirith, Gondor_

-ooOOoo—

Entry Fourteen:

As we left the stream with the guards, Thranduil spoke to them both.

"I require your full confidence in anything you might have witnessed this evening," he said to them as we walked.

"Yes, Your Majesty," was their reply, and though he probably didn't need to, he went on.

"The situation will be dealt with," he said with a certain grim finality.

I wondered what it meant to deal with it. I didn't know how to deal with it. I didn't know what to _do_ with it. My grandmother's words came back to me.

 _It is, and the question is what will you choose to do about it?_

There was something interesting in the words my grandmother used, and it was the use of the word _choose._ That implied I had a choice. But did I? I felt as if I had been merely reactionary, as if I were being acted upon instead of acting for myself. What choice did I have? What choice did Thranduil have? Could we choose each other? Did we want to? How could we? This wasn't supposed to happen!

Every question remained hanging around me, unanswered, as I returned to the throne room with Thranduil. He seemed to have forced all his focus into the crisis at hand, and so I did my best to do so as well.

Gandalf was waiting for us on the throne dais, seeming the same in his wrinkled, shabby robes, unassuming but engaged and a little funny. Beside him was a small creature, bowed, restless, pale, and tied with ropes and held by two elven guards. The thing's eyes never stayed still, as if his focus was always reaching for something secret. He searched the room around him as if looking for something; whether it was escape, rescue, or relief, I couldn't begin to surmise, and he _muttered_ almost incessantly. The worst thing about him, though, was the feeling that emanated from him. He reeked of craven want that can never be satisfied. I didn't know whether to pity him or recoil from him.

I sat down and immediately prepared to scribe.

"Gandalf the Grey," said Thranduil, mounting his throne in his traveling gear, "it is always a pleasure to see you. But what have you brought?"

"Your Majesty," said Gandalf, showing deference, "I hope you'll forgive me, but it seems I have a prisoner and you have the best dungeons in Rhovanion."

"A prisoner?" inquired Thranduil, gazing upon the creature. "Taking prisoners is not something I believe I've ever known you to do."

"It is, indeed, not a practice I tend to pursue," replied Gandalf. "But Smeagol is an exception."

The creature seemed to react to his name being spoken and his mutterings became intelligible for a moment.

"Lets us go, why keeps Smeagol from the precious?" he hissed, cowing like a dog that'd been kicked too many times. He yanked on a rope and I watched the guard shift to keep it taught. "The precious is lost, but Smeagol finds it, can finds the Bagginses what stole it! Baggins! Thief! Baggins thieved my precious!"

He shrieked and screamed and tore at his scanty hair and the ropes which bound him. Thranduil watched the behavior of Smeagol with a wary, sober gaze, and then shifted his gaze to Gandalf.

"This is the second testimony which has accused that hobbit of being a thief," said Thranduil.

Gandalf seemed amused by that.

"I assure you, Mr. Baggins would be appalled by the idea," he said.

"What has Mr. Baggins stolen, or perhaps not stolen, from this…," and Thranduil didn't seem to know what to call Smeagol, "wretch?"

"I'm not sure, yet," said Gandalf, who became serious in an instant. "But it might be _… important_."

He left it vague, and purposefully so.

"That is what I'm setting about to discover," Gandalf said. "It's most likely just a trifle. We shall see."

Thranduil leaned back in his throne.

"What do you want me to do with him?" he asked.

"Keep him for me, if you would," said Gandalf. "I may need to question him again, or perhaps he may regain some lucidity."

"Do not leaves us with the elvesses!" hissed Smeagol, recoiling. "Nasty elvesss!"

"It's a horrid bother to keep an eye on him while I'm travelling; he's always trying to run away," said Gandalf.

"Smeagol runs to the precious! We needs it!" cried the wretch, and then his face shifted suddenly to an idea which he seemed to find exciting: "We finds it, we finds the Baggins and we kills the Baggins and takes it back, our precious!"

Smeagol then dissolved into his imaginings, seeming pacified by the idea of murdering the hobbit and taking back whatever his 'precious' was, muttering and cooing to himself. Even the elven guards seemed discomfited by the creature.

"It's quite a favor to ask, Your Majesty, but your dungeons are secure," said Gandalf. "And it is possible that he may be of critical use, later."

Thranduil sighed, considering Smeagol and Gandalf.

"Very well," he said. "I will keep your prisoner."

He waved to the guards and they dragged Smeagol off, out of the throne room.

"He likes raw fish," added Gandalf amidst the commotion of Smeagol's protests over being left with "nasty elvesses".

Once the throne room doors were shut, Thranduil leaned forward on his throne and peered at Gandalf.

"Who is he?" Thranduil asked.

Gandalf was evasive.

"I don't know enough to give a sure answer," he said. "Yet."

Thranduil appeared impatient.

"Does it have anything to do with the growing shadow we face?" asked Thranduil.

"I cannot say," said Gandalf.

"Can you say anything?" he asked the wizard.

"I would prefer not to, until I know what is necessary," said Gandalf, though he seemed less jovial than usual, and more grim.

Thranduil sat back and appeared frustrated, which brought Gandalf to cede, a little.

"Elvenking," said Gandalf, regarding Thranduil with a kindness, and perhaps even a certain fondness which I did not expect. "Darkness is spreading across the land, and it cannot yet be fought by brute force alone. Force is what the darkness expects from us, for force is through which the shadow fights, and it is ready for that from us; more than ready. We are neither strong nor unified enough to stop it through force, not yet, if we ever will be."

Thranduil listened.

"A single, bright light in the darkness can penetrate and weaken the shadow for a great distance around," said Gandalf. "But it cannot overcome it. Only if joined with other lights, across all distances, can the shadow be swallowed and the darkness have no quarter to dwell."

Gandalf leaned on his staff.

"How precious is each light," said the wizard. "Because if just one goes out, the darkness can grow."

Thranduil straightened and looked down upon Gandalf.

"I recognize your counsel, Mithrandir," he said.

"Well," said Gandalf, wry, "it is mere counsel, and perhaps worth nothing."

"Where will you go now?" asked Thranduil.

"Actually," said Gandalf, his countenance laced with levity, "I was wondering if it was yet time for one of your kingdom's legendary midsummer feasts?"

Thranduil smiled.

"Tomorrow night, in fact," he said.

"Oh?" said Gandalf, glancing sideways, and seeming to wait for an invitation.

"We shall welcome you with honor," said Thranduil with a gracious nod.

"So very kind of you," said Gandalf, and then with a chuckle, he glanced around and added: "I'm just glad I didn't miss it."

-oOo-

The Woodland Midsummer Feast was often the most festive, though one never knows with these feasts how festive one can get. They often would evolve organically and in ways impossible for which to plan. This one, however, did end up quite festive, for in the face of increasing darkness, the woodland elves grew in gratitude for the freedom and light they still possessed.

The tables were laid with brilliant summer flowers and rich greenery, and all the bounty of summer, and lanterns and lights were hung and strung all around amidst sparkling fireflies. In the misty hollows of the forest around, fireflies burst into shocks of light, sometimes sporadic, sometimes synchronized, but always beautiful. At the head table was Thranduil in a crown laced with rich summer berries and the fronds of dark green ferns, and on his right hand was Gandalf, who seemed to throw himself into the revelry of the Woodland Realm with joyous familiarity. Legolas was on Thranduil's left, and then myself, and Golwendir.

I was not upset that Thranduil had returned me to Legolas' side. I understood why he would do it, especially in the light of the two soldiers who had witnessed us. He certainly didn't want to fuel any fires, and neither did I. Besides, I really liked sitting with Legolas and Golwendir.

I did rebel a bit, though, I must admit. I wore the green that Thranduil had been bothering me to wear for what seemed like ages. I even personally chose the shade of fabric what would most closely match my eyes, and I could finally wear my mother's emerald circlet that I'd bargained from my father. The fabric of the gown left my arms bare, and after draping across my shoulders, plunged down the back, draping in loose folds, but open almost to my waist. I found myself hoping Thranduil, in a dance, or in passing, would touch my back. I hoped he would. I was distracted by the thought.

Despite dressing for the clear purpose of drawing the eye of Thranduil, I kept away from him and simply enjoyed the pleasure of once again being at a woodland elf feast after so many years away.

"Is it all how you remember?" asked Legolas with a smile. He was wearing green and russet, and had a fern frond in his hair.

"Even better," I said, and he smiled. "I've never been to a midsummer feast, before."

"It's the best one," he said.

"And why is that?" I asked.

"Because this night is shortest, so we work extra hard to fit as much happiness as possible into it," he said.

I laughed.

"I'll try very hard to keep up," I said.

"Then we must dance," he said.

"We must!" I exclaimed, and I moved to stand immediately. Thranduil noticed as I rose, inquiring wordlessly over what I might be doing. I smiled at him and glanced at Legolas, then back. He seemed pained that Legolas would be dancing with me and he would not, but then Gandalf began to speak.

"Is this the daughter of Elrond that I've heard so much about?" asked Gandalf, who had become more congenial than normal with the addition of sylvan wine.

"It depends upon what you have heard," said Thranduil.

"A fine scribe, I've heard, and one who has left her home in Rivendell for Mirkwood," said Gandalf. "Quite peculiar behavior for a daughter of Noldor."

I smiled, not quite sure how to take all that.

"I suppose that's more or less accurate," said Thranduil, and he checked off items on his fingers: "Finest of scribes, inexplicably prefers the Greenwood, _very_ peculiar behavior… it is all true."

"I am Eren of Rivendell," I said, introducing myself and casting Thranduil a dry glance. "And I think we have met in the distant past, Gandalf the Grey."

"Have we? Then I must apologize," said Gandalf with warmth, and then: "I did notice you scribing at the Battle of Five Armies and again just yesterday. Is this what you do?"

"Whenever I can manage it," I said.

"Why, might I ask?" he inquired.

"I suppose I like to be in the thick of things," I replied.

Gandalf laughed, finding that a merry thing to say.

"I should say, my dear, if you like being in the thick of things, perhaps when the thick of things find you, you will consider yourself fortunate," he said. "Too many see it the other way around, and call it bad luck."

"She does seem to have a penchant for complications," Thanduil remarked wryly.

"You've forgotten to add she's excellent with a bow," added Legolas, inserting himself.

"Accomplished in weaponry?" asked Gandalf. "That isn't what I expected from Elrond's daughter."

"My father required it," I said, "because I wouldn't stay out of trouble."

The wizard found this delightfully amusing.

"She dances, as well," said Legolas, taking me by the hand, "which, if you will excuse us, we will now go demonstrate."

"Yes, yes," said Gandalf, waving us off, "don't slow down your merrymaking on account of me."

We left the tables and went into the dancing space, where many elves were already embroiled in a lively group dance.

"Where's Tauriel?" I asked Legolas on a turn.

"Ah, where do you think?" he asked me with a wry smile.

"Patrolling," I replied with a sigh.

"It's even more necessary, now," said Legolas. "Things have gotten worse."

"How much worse?" I asked.

Legolas glanced in his father's direction.

"Some of the roads have had to be closed," he said. "We only have one road left open through the wood towards the west, and none to the south towards Dol Guldur."

I gazed at Legolas, hating the encroaching darkness.

"Let me help you," I said.

"As much as I appreciate that," he said, smiling at me, but then his smile was tinged with distress, "there are not enough of us to stop it, anymore."

I felt a sudden pang of worry for the Greenwood and glanced over toward Thranduil, who caught my gaze and seemed intrigued. I didn't want to bother him with these sorts of things tonight, so I looked away and smiled at Legolas.

"Let's forget about that, for now," I offered, and he agreed.

I could, if I tried, pretend there was no threat at all to the Woodland Realm and that feasts like these would go on forever. That's what I did while I danced with Legolas, and it was joyous though I couldn't forget completely, and there was a dense sensation of dread just out of view always. It wasn't the same, the feasts had changed, because of the shadow.

After a particularly enlivening dance, Legolas and I were catching our breath when I felt a hand light upon my shoulder, and I knew who it was before I'd turned to see Thranduil.

"Your Majesty," I said, in deference.

"Lady Eren," he said, his fingertips brushing my shoulder blade as his hand fell away. "Would you like to dance?"

"Yes," I said, shivering once.

He took me into a country dance, wherein we were partnered and his hand rested upon my waist and mine upon his shoulder. I'd only done it with Legolas quickly and riotously, but this was different, more graceful, thoughtful, and slow. We had to move together or else collide or fall apart, and so it required that we be deeply aware of each other's movements all throughout. He watched me and I watched him, and I allowed him to lead.

"If only you were this compliant outside of the dance," he said.

"You wouldn't like me as much, if I were," I replied.

He withdrew suddenly and pushed me into a spin beneath his arm, and then he pulled me back again, into where we were before, but a little closer. I was intensely aware of his hand on my hip. He smelled like the woods, and leather, and ripe, red berries, and to my own inward amusement, I wanted to smash my face into his neck and take a great, huge sniff. But I didn't.

"I see you've finally decided to wear green," he observed.

"Oh, did I?" I asked, aloof. "I didn't notice."

He looked amused.

"It looks better than in my most fantastical imaginings," he said.

"Do you often engage in fantastical imaginings?" I inquired.

"Only about you," he said.

I fought against a blush, and it was made worse because he seemed to enjoy watching me struggle against it. I cast about for ways to alter the subject.

"Are you enjoying your guest of honor?" I asked.

"Mithrandir?" he asked, and then: "I always do."

"He seems to like the-," I began, but stopped suddenly as I felt Thranduil's fingertip touch my lower back and I lightly caught my breath. I struggled, yet continued: "The feast. Very much."

"It does seem so," said Thranduil, and his fingers trailed lightly up my back, causing me to tremble. He seemed to know the effect he was having on me, and was reveling in it. It made me a little furious.

"What do you think you're doing?" I whispered at him.

"Touching you," he whispered back, and then he caressed my skin, languid, in slow circles. My eyes closed of their own accord and I found myself sighing.

"Shall I stop?" he whispered.

"Yes," I sighed, though I surely sounded as if I meant something else. His hand left me, immediately. I opened my eyes and looked up at him, reproving: "You can't do that sort of thing, not here."

"I can't help it," he said, something of a smile on his face.

"You _won't_ help it," I said.

"Ah, hah," he said, "How the tables have turned."

"If we were alone, however," I ventured, "it wouldn't matter."

"What wouldn't matter?" he asked.

"Anything," I said. "You could do that all you like."

"That sounds so easy," he said. "Deceptively easy."

"You won't know until you try," I said.

"That sounds like a terrible method of learning things," he said. "I also won't know that a dragon will murder me, until I try wrestling one."

"Are you comparing me to a dragon?" I asked.

"No," he said. "You're worse."

"Ha," I replied.

"And more," he said.

"More what?" I asked.

"More everything," he replied.

"Do you have any idea how difficult it is to be so close to you?" I asked.

"I believe I have a fairly accurate idea of the difficulty you are experiencing," he replied. "Possibly to a more acute degree."

"Then why are we torturing each other by dancing?" I asked.

"Why do you torture me by wearing _that_?" he asked.

"Why do you torture me by touching me _that way_?" I asked.

He rubbed my hand with his thumb and said, "I suppose it's our unique quality."

"Torture?" I said. "We are quite doomed, I believe."

"Oh, Eren," he said, his humor fading into fatalism, "We have always been doomed."

I glanced away and felt miserable all at once.

He released me from the dance and took my hand.

"Come," he said, guiding me along, away from the dancing field to the trees which we had stood beneath for every feast, and tonight they were laden with heavy green leaves and the growing fruits of summer. Fireflies emerged here and there in bursts of soft light against the shadowed, misty blue of summer dark.

We leaned against a tree and watched the feasting and the dancing continue, and, subtly between us, he held my hand. I felt great comfort in my hand in his, for some reason. I wanted us to always be that way. I glanced over at Thranduil, and he appeared to be embroiled in his thoughts.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked.

He met my eyes, then drew a deep breath and let it out. Then, he released my hand.

"There is something we have to discuss," he said. "Though I wish it were not so, and as a result I am sorry. I am deeply, agonizingly sorry, because I have not behaved well. In fact, I should say I have behaved reprehensively."

This sounded bad. I hated every word, because it all added up to everything I didn't want, should I read between the lines. Because of this, I didn't reply, I just let him continue.

He turned to face me.

"This… between us," he said, "it should not have happened."

I waited.

"But it did," he said. "And it is powerful."

I looked away.

"We… we cannot continue as we have," he said. "Things will not stay the same. We are sliding towards results that will require permanency."

The term _'require permanency'_ was the most interesting way I had ever heard someone refer to marriage in my life. Yes, this was how marriage came up between us, the thing we had both avoided even thinking about or considering for all these years, referred to as 'permanency'. It made everything feel more real, more consequential, and more terrifying. Also, it made things a lot more complicated.

"Eren..." he said. "I am married already."

Like a hammer into my chest.

"I know," I said.

"That hasn't changed," he said.

 _Strike._

"Yes, I know," I said.

"Nor will it," he said.

 _Strike._

"Of course, it won't," I said.

"I love my wife," he said.

 _Strike._

"As you should," I said.

"There is only one way for you and me, if there could be an us," he said.

I didn't want to know. I knew, but I didn't want to hear it. Hearing it made it real, and something I would have to deal with and recognize.

"You would have to be my second wife," he said.

This hammer strike came hard. _Hard._ It was the killing blow.

I felt the unique prick of tears clawing at my façade, so I looked away.

"I do not want that for you, or ask that of you," he said. "And besides, your father would want my head on a pike. It is my fault. I should have known better. I should have behaved better. I… was sideblinded by it, and it was so subtle I didn't know it was happening until I found myself helplessly trapped. I didn't even know it _could_ happen… until it did."

At some point during his speech, tears had begun to stream down my face beyond my control. What did my grandmother mean, when she asked me what I would choose to do about it? She couldn't have expected me to choose _this_ , never this! It appeared that there was no choice at all to be made, only misery to be had.

My breath became erratic and I couldn't look at him.

If this was going to happen, why did it happen at all? Why was I so drawn to him from the beginning if it was all wrong, _all wrong_? Why did he have to be so perfect? Why did I have to love him so much? I felt betrayed by the world, at large.

"Please say something," he begged from beside me.

I blinked tears out of my eyes and gathered myself as much as I could, which wasn't very much. I was a wretch, to be honest, for my chest had just been crushed by the blows of a hammer. I looked up at him, feeling tears fall as I did so. He cared, I could see it in his eyes and feel it in his aura; he cared _so much_ , he was torn asunder by the burden of it, and I loved him more because of it, though that only made everything worse.

"You're right," I managed to get out in a near-whisper, tears falling, falling, refusing to stop. "We are doomed."

I closed my eyes tightly to crush out the beloved sight of him and moved to leave, for I had to get away. I had to escape, I couldn't be here, not here, where I loved to be, with the person whom I loved the most, during the most joyful night of the year, when it was all to be denied to me, held away at arm's length, almost mine, but not. I walked into the forest, into the fireflies, and the doom of it, and then I ran, through the trees, east, east, away, where all my tears could fall and no one would know it.

At length I came to a rise out of the brush upon which overlook I could see the Lonely Mountain and the distant, twinkling lights of Dale, and I collapsed onto the ground and allowed myself to sob and mourn. I thought that I would die. I thought that my spirit would tear from my body. I did not believe I could bear it, that it was too great, that I would be ripped apart by the strain of it.

I have heard that, at rare times in greatest mourning, animals can sense one's sorrow and are driven to comfort. It is possible that this can explain what happened next, for, from the brush emerged the woodland elk which Thranduil and I had been watching before, and it came near and lay down beside me, docile, calm, patiently waiting. I didn't question it at the time; I threw my arms around its neck, feeling comfort from its thick, brown fur and the smell of the woods, and allowing the last remnants of my tears to release. It was patient.

The next morning, I woke slowly, sober, resigned, and reclining into the fur of the woodland elk, which had slept as well, yet lifted its head to regard me when I rose. The Lonely Mountain was the first thing I saw in the distance. It didn't take long for the crushing wounds of last night to become once again apparent, for the agony of remembrance shot through me again and again. I felt weak and broken and empty.

As I stood, the woodland elk stood with me, and weariness overtook me and I had to fall upon it for support. I cried, again. For how long, I don't know. Eventually, as the sun waxed high and warm, I climbed upon the elk and, as I wearily laid upon it, as if I were a cloak strewn upon its back, it took me to a stream.

I removed myself from it and sat down beside the stream to watch the water, my knees pulled up into my chest and my hands wrapped around. I watched the elk drink, and then mill around finding grasses and leaves to eat. I had become numb to all things considered, but aware of everything in the immediate. After a while, the elk came and laid down beside me again, and waited.

I ran my fingers through its fur, finally able to feel a vein of gratitude that it was here, and wondered what it was waiting for. Eventually, I noticed the stream beside me differently than I had before. I took a drink. It refreshed me greatly, for I hadn't realized how much I needed it. Afterward, I stood and gazed around at the woodland hollow in which we were. The sunlight shot in rays through the tall, slender trunks of trees; insects flittered through the haze of sun, the stream reflected brilliant spots of light and trickled a soothing noise, and it smelled wonderful, fresh, warm, and like growing grass.

The resurgence of gratitude caused a resurgence of grief and I began to cry again. The elk stood beside me and I climbed upon it and let it take me where it would.

For three days this is how I lived. The elk was my companion, my comfort, and my guide. It showed me the hidden, beautiful places of the forest and I was its humble, shattered guest. My love for the Greenwood only grew, which brought me more sorrow, yet gave me the burgeoning beginnings of a strength which I could not yet articulate.

I wondered at times if I would fade away, so great was my sorrow. I wondered as I looked at the stars of the Undying Lands, and I felt their call, distant but clear, and promising. But I was held here by something which anchored me, and I would have to discover what that was.

On the fourth day, the elk took me to a glade which was surrounded by trees, yet struck by sunlight in the middle, and in the warmed grass grew tiny white _Elanor_ flowers. I rode upon its back, wondering distantly about its choice, and what it meant to show me, here.

I saw Thranduil enter the glade through the trees, in his traveling gear, with his sword strapped to his waist. He looked tired, harangued, worried. I could have no reaction at all, being numb with grief beyond feeling. He saw me upon the elk and stopped, unable to move for a few, brief seconds. I fixed him with a sober gaze.

"Eren!" he cried at last, and then rushed to my side. He reached up to take me from the back of the elk into his arms. "You're so cold, where have you been? Oh, dear _stars…"_

I couldn't care as he took his cloak and wrapped it around me, as he voiced his concern, as he asked me questions. I noticed, distantly, that he had tears on his face. In time, others came and they all took me back to Mirkwood, where I was bathed, and fed, and clothed, and questioned, and left, eventually, to sit upon a bench beside a fire, wrapped in a blanket.

Thranduil came to sit beside me.

He watched me with a distressed gaze.

"Where is my elk?" I asked him.

"I don't know," he replied.

I returned my gaze to the fire.

After a time, he spoke again.

"Eren," he said.

I could not respond. When he spoke again, his voice was shaking.

"Eren, _please_ ," he said, "do not do this."

"Do what?" I asked.

"You are fading," he said.

"How do you know?" I asked.

"Because I've seen it before," he said.

I looked at him and noticed he was weeping. I could only find it _interesting._ He sat beside me and cried until the fire died to embers. I knew he loved me, I could feel it like the pulsing heat that seeped from the glowing embers in the fireplace, yet, unlike the embers, his love would not fade away. I drew comfort from that, despite our circumstances.

After a while, deep into the night, once the fire had grown cold and Thranduil had grown exhausted and somehow contented by his sorrow, he placed his hand on my arm and sighed.

"Thranduil," I said, gazing into the ashes.

"Yes, Eren?" he asked.

"Is there court tomorrow?" I asked.

"Perhaps," he replied.

"I want there to be," I said.

He waited.

"I want to be your scribe," I said.

His forehead fell upon my shoulder and he wept.

"Yes," he said, sighing, watery, "Yes, you can be my scribe. You can always be my scribe. For always."

I could tell he had not yet wrung out the fulness of his grief, so I let him do it, patient, waiting, docile. There was relief in his weeping.

-ooOOoo-


	15. Entry Fifteen: Gandalf the Gossip

-ooOOoo—

 _To Mr. Bailen Surrey, E.M._

 _Academiae Hall, Old Minas Tirith, Gondor_

 _Mr. Surrey,_

 _I have done what was ordered for me to do. Rhovanion hasn't long been under Gondorian control, and sometimes we find it necessary to reinforce our dominance, lest there be further uprising. The furthering of academic work in the area for historical preservation and the unchallenged rule of Gondor in the area are more important than a few rebels and their livestock._

 _Regards,_

 _Captain M. Tuniel_

 _Post House, Wiltshire, The Green Wood, Rhovanion_

-ooOOoo—

Entry Fifteen:

The next morning, I arrived at court on time.

"Lady Eren," said Golwendir, "I am glad to see you are well."

But _was_ I well?

"Thank you, Golwendir," I replied, sitting down at my desk and arranging my things.

Golwendir seemed to want to inquire further, but he decided against it and moved on to managing other things. I looked up at Thranduil and saw he was gazing at me, and he looked fatigued. I wondered if I looked just as tired. It was likely. The two of us were being wrung out, slowly, by fate. He smiled a little, my co-conspirator in misery, and his smile was laced with a certain sadness. I returned my eyes to the papers in front of me, being unable to respond.

Scribing I could manage; scribing was clear, straightforward, logical. Thranduil was not. He was, perhaps, the opposite of all those things. I couldn't manage him right now, and I didn't know when I would be able.

Court began and an inquiry into Smeagol was brought up.

"What shall we do with him?" asked Nallon.

"Gandalf instructed we watch him closely, for he is, for whatever reason, both extremely slippery and extremely important," said Thranduil.

"Shall he be kept in the dungeons?" asked Nallon.

"For the time being," replied Thranduil. "Perhaps, in time, if he should prove tame, we can relax our prison for him. Keep me apprised of his behavior."

Court went on, and it gave me contentment to scribe for it. Once finished, I packed my things and ignored the king as he left. I was determined to find my elk again, and so after changing into my leather and bow, I went up to the surface, into the woods, to spend the afternoon. I wondered if it would come to the place where Thranduil and I had watched it night after night, with the large rock and the stream, so I went there and stood on the rock, waiting.

This circumstance, waiting for the elk, far away from anyone else, gave me time to think.

I considered the land where I grew up and lived for most of my life, Rivendell. I was still fond of it; it was comfortable, I suppose, but it wasn't the Greenwood. I had come to love the Greenwood as if I had been waiting for it my entire life, and once found I had satisfied a need I didn't know I had. Now, to leave it would cause me acute pain, I knew this in my heart. I could leave it, I suppose, but I would forever miss it.

I loved the _wildness_ of it, of being surrounded by the forest and all the things that lived here. There was something very tangible and physical about the Greenwood; one did not just live in the Greenwood, one was part of it, one lived _with_ it. I wonder if it was this solid physicality that drove Thranduil's Sindar elders to make it their home. I wonder if this is why they stayed.

My grandmother, too, lived in a forest, though not one as wild as this one. I longed to ask her why, and to ask her many other things as well, perhaps to better understand my own self and circumstances. I felt she would give me insight I badly needed, I hoped she would know what I should do. I hoped she would understand and help me come to terms with my restless, treacherous feelings.

I heard a sound behind me and turned to see Thranduil had arrived at the stone as well.

He was dressed in plain clothes for hiking, and had his sword on his belt. His hair was pulled back.

"Why have you come here?" I asked him.

"Likely the same reason as you," he replied. "To find the elk."

I looked out at the brush.

"I did not know you would be here," he said. "I will leave if you wish."

"I cannot tell you what to do," I said. "You are the king of this land."

"Yet I will concede to your wishes," he insisted.

I paused and considered a moment.

"Don't leave," I said. "You may stay."

We stood in silence, watching and waiting for the elk.

"Thranduil," I said, my eyes on the brush, "I want to know about your wife. Who was she? Why has she gone?"

I knew he didn't want to talk about it, but I also knew he wouldn't deny me.

"She was… fair. Sindar. And she played the harp quite well," he said. "I think that is what drew my attention to her at the first, though she was beautiful, which also drew my attention."

I felt him shift slightly on the rock beside me.

"We had many happy years together," he said, "but… she couldn't forget the sea and what lies across it. I watched the ennui grow in her over the years, and I was helpless to stop it. Engagement in the kingdom wasn't enough, young Legolas wasn't enough, and eventually I wasn't enough to keep her here. She grew weary of Middle Earth and began to fade."

Then I understood the severity of his reaction when he thought I might be fading.

"I could not keep her here," he said, his words tight, his emotions restrained. "I could not convince her to stay. She could either fade entirely or cross the sea. If it can only be one or the other… at least I might see her again if she went to the Undying Lands. At least Legolas might."

"How long have you been alone?" I asked.

"It's been two thousand years," he said.

"Will you follow her?" I asked.

"Perhaps," he replied. "I am not finished with Middle Earth, nor is Middle Earth finished with me. I do not have any desire to leave my forest. The call of the sea does not pull at me."

"I believe that to be true," I said.

"What part?"

"Middle Earth is not finished with you," I said. "I think Middle Earth _needs_ you. It's what Gandalf said, about the lights. You cannot abandon the Greenwood, for its light depends on you. You are needed here. You are not only needed, but you are _necessary_."

He gazed upon me with adoration.

"You understand beautifully," he said.

"I only speak what I see," I said.

"Then you have Galadriel's gift," he said.

"So you continue to say," I replied, dubious.

"Early in development, but you are young," he said.

"I maintain that you are delusional," I said.

He laughed at that, and what a delight it was to hear him laugh. I would never tire of it, never in ten thousand years. It brought a ray of sun into the miasma of these past few days.

"I am glad to have you as my scribe," he said. "Your insight is an asset to my kingdom."

"Unfortunately, scribes aren't supposed to offer their insight," I said.

"No, they are not," he said. "But I will make an exception for you."

"I hope you don't regret that decision," I said.

"I already have again and again," he said.

I found myself smiling a little, and in better circumstances, I would have laughed.

"But the benefits have outweighed the consequences," he said.

"Have they?" I asked, dubious.

"Overwhelmingly," he said. "How fortunate I am to know you."

His words touched me and I glanced down, feeling bittersweet.

"I feel the same way," I said, shifting my gaze back to the brush.

We were silent for a long moment.

"Where did you go for three days, Eren?" he asked, his voice breaking the silence.

"Wherever my elk took me," I said. "All over the Greenwood, to beautiful places, to streams, overlooks, glades of wildflowers. The elk let me mourn, yet watched over me, and wouldn't let me fade away. It reminded me of what I love about the Greenwood and even increased that love. I'll always be grateful, always."

Thranduil listened silently, and then stayed that way for a time, considering what I'd said.

"You do love the Greenwood," he said.

"More than Rivendell," I confirmed, knowing that's what he truly wanted to know.

He took some time to gaze at me, then nodded.

"Well," he said, glancing around. "I will leave you to watch for your elk."

"Don't leave," I said.

"But I-," he began.

"Just," I said, "sit beside me."

"I will," he replied, compliant.

We sat on the rock next to each other and watched the brush and the stream and the sky turn from azure to pink. In time, the elk came to drink from the stream, and I found joy in its appearance.

I stood at once, dismounting the rock to walk through the stream and then throw my arms around the elk's neck, burying my face into its fur and taking a long inhale of the scent of the forest. I sighed and leaned my head against it, glancing at Thranduil, who had stood as well and was watching.

"Come," I said, gesturing for Thranduil to join us.

He came and held out his hand to the elk, being cautious, perhaps concerned he might frighten it, but it was docile towards him and allowed him to touch its muzzle. The smile which dawned across Thranduil's face was pure light, and it was catching, since I found myself smiling as well.

"This is miraculous," he said, running his hand into the fur on the elk's back. "They aren't tamed so quickly, they never are."

"I think," I said, "this one had mercy on me."

"It is miraculous," he said again, for nothing better to say.

"I will share it with you," I said, knowing it had been his initial intention to tame an elk for his own purposes.

"I cannot ask that of you," he said.

"You haven't," I said. "I've offered. It is your place to ride a woodland elk at the head of your people, not mine. I am not the symbol of the Woodland Realm, you are."

So great was his gratitude, so sharp his adoration, that he seemed pained by it. His hand, running through the fur of the elk, touched mine, and he entangled his fingers in mine and pulled my hand to his face. He didn't kiss it, but it was more as if he _worshipped_ it. I could see his grief was not yet wrung out.

"I do not deserve you," he whispered, confiding. "Why must you grow more perfect, every day? I cannot stand the thought of living without you, yet I can have no claim upon you. I am powerless. How it pains me to be so powerless."

I watched him, my own grief being so great I had only numbness.

"I love you," I said soberly, "That is what you have."

A tear fell down his cheek and he sighed against my hand.

"I love your kingdom," I said, "and you have wrenched loyalty from me, you have conquered me, you have gained my undying loyalty. My fealty is now to you, and you alone."

"But that isn't what I wanted," he said, broken.

"You have done it, regardless," I said.

"What can I give you?" he asked.

"You can't give me what I want," I said.

"I will give you everything I have," he said.

"I want you," I said. "Give me that."

"You have me," he said.

"I do not," I said.

"You do," he said, insistent. "I am yours."

I pulled my hand from his, and felt tears sting me again. He had managed to drive me out of my numbness and back into feeling. It felt as if he were cruel to do so, yet it was necessary. We stood on either side of the elk, and I felt as if we couldn't understand each other, as if we urgently wanted to understand each other, but couldn't see, as if caught, blind, and desperate.

I clung to the elk, for it felt like the only solid thing I possessed.

"Do not say things that clearly aren't true," I said, blinking back tears, forcing them back into submission, crushing them into a controlled space.

"Eren," he said, doubling down, "I cannot be anything _but_ yours. I cannot think of anything else, I cannot consider being away from you without feeling as if I will be torn apart, I cannot live without you. When I thought you might fade I wanted to die, I feared I would fade, myself, if you did. I cannot bear it again, I can't live with it; you've cultivated a hope in me that I thought was long dead and I cannot let it go. I _need_ you. You said this of me, but I say it now of you: You are not only needed, but you are _necessary_."

"How can you say-," I began, but his hand came down over mine, clenching it, and he cut me off.

" _Please, believe me,_ " he said, his voice desperate. I looked up at him then and I saw: he could not live without me. I knew it. We were both caught in our own trap. Without him I would fade, and without me he would, too. But the truth was, Middle Earth needed _him_ , and by default _me_ to keep him here.

I felt tears fall across my cheeks and knew I'd crested a new rise in my grief.

"I believe you," I said.

"I love you," he said.

"I know," I said, sure of it.

I held his hand across the back of the elk and in our locked gazes we shared the surety of knowing that between us was love, enormous, powerful, and at times, overwhelming.

 _Now what will you choose to do about it?_

My grandmother's words came to me again, and my answer right then was nothing. I did nothing about it.

In the months that followed, I served him as a loyal subject, as the best scribe I could be, as a counselor, as a friend. He treated me with kindness and held my counsel in high esteem, he defended me in every possible case, he danced with me at the autumn feast. Our love only grew and deepened, though forced to mellow to warm embers, and though we didn't fully have what we wanted, we had each other's companionship, and it was enough to keep us sane.

One day, I received an unusual letter from my father:

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

 _Dear Eren,_

 _I have received Mithrandir, who mentioned the prisoner which was left in the Elvenking's dungeons. You have already apprised me of Smeagol's existence, but it was interesting to hear it from Gandalf's point of view. He suspects him of having crucial information regarding Sauron, I think, though he's evasive for now with the telling._

 _But now the main purpose of my letter: Gandalf also expressed concern over you, for he says he witnessed an exchange between yourself and the Elvenking at the Midsummer Feast, and though he knows not what was said, he said you appeared enormously distressed as you left and he didn't see you again. In fact, Gandalf said it appeared as if King Thranduil was deeply troubled as well by whatever it was that happened. Is there something you aren't telling me? I feel rather strongly there is something you aren't telling me. What am I missing? You do wish to be in the Woodland Realm, it seems as if you wish to be there more than anything, yet you experience this distress from the Elvenking. It can't possibly be what Gandalf suspects. It is his firm belief, from what he observed, that the two of you are amorously entangled somehow, but it cannot be possible, yet it would explain so many strange behaviors in which you have engaged over the past forty years. Still, I can't believe it until I know it from your pen. Please reply soon._

 _Love,_

 _Father_

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

After reading it, I sat with my head in my hands and cursed the fact that Gandalf was an incredible gossip. Of course, he was! I should have known anything Gandalf observed would be fair game to tell my father, but I wasn't certain it would have changed my behavior at all; it seemed I couldn't control my behavior where Thranduil was concerned. I had made my own bed, and now I would have to lie in it. This, however, included Thranduil, and might have directly affected him, and so I had to consult with him before I could form a reply.

Some time later, I was sitting in the silence of his office as he read the letter at his desk. I watched his face grow grim and tired.

He put the letter down on the desk and drew a breath and let it out.

"Well," he said. "We are the most foolish people in the world."

"Aren't we?" I said ruefully.

"Perhaps just me," he said. "I should have waited to have… that _conversation_ … until a more private time."

"Gandalf is no fool," I said. "He would have seen signs of it, regardless. That we thought we weren't obvious is unmistakable evidence of our dual-foolishness."

"I suppose I leaned heavily upon the assumption that it was unexpected, or impossible, in most eyes," he said.

"I leaned on assumptions, but mostly did a terrible job of controlling myself," I said.

Thranduil smiled wryly at that.

"Not only you," he said. "I am impulsive in my nature."

"I know," I said.

"I fight against it continually," he said.

"You do," I said.

"I love that you know it," he said.

I smiled.

"But what are we going to tell your father?" he asked.

"Should I tell him I love you and can't live without you?" I asked.

Thranduil laughed softly and pushed a strand of hair behind his ear, seeming to find the idea both stressful and flattering.

"Instead," he said. "Tell him that _I_ love you and can't live without you."

"It all sounds so melodramatic," I said.

He laughed, that beautiful laugh that filled me with light.

"Eren," he said.

"Yes?"

"Please don't hate me for this," he said, plucking at the letter on the desk as he thought, "but I'm almost _relieved_ he knows."

"Are you?" I asked. "Because I was hoping to never, ever face it."

"What cowardice!" he wondered.

"How dare you?" I demanded, and I wadded up a piece of paper and threw it at him. My aim was true, yet his dodge was elite. He took the paper wad and kept it in his palm for safekeeping, eyeing me with distrust. I couldn't help smiling at him.

"But of a certain," he said, indicating the letter with his hand, "At least this branch of our labyrinth has been breached. He can know. He _will_ know."

I thought about that, gazing at the letter on Thranduil's desk.

"We don't know what will happen if he knows," I said. "He may force me home to Rivendell. He may question your intentions. He may start a _war._ "

"Can you imagine your father impulsively starting a war, when he is already essentially in one against far greater darkness than myself?" asked Thranduil. "Specifically, this war we fight against the shadow in which I am his ally?"

"No," I said, seeing his point. "He would not."

"He will most definitely question my intentions, and for that I don't blame him," said Thranduil. "As for forcing you home to Rivendell, that is not something he should be able to do. You are capable of thinking for yourself, as well as acting for yourself. I do not wish to drive a wedge between you and your father, but there is a point when a person must be one's own agent."

I sighed, longing to avoid conflict with my father.

"And moreover," he said. "I… am afraid for you to leave the Greenwood… to leave me. I don't think…"

"We can't," I said, "separate."

"Or is it the case that we won't?" he asked, softly, with a wry smile.

"We are, indeed, both of immovable will," I said. "Perhaps can't and won't are interchangeable, when it comes to ourselves."

"I adore you," he said, as he did often, and suddenly, when it moved him.

"I know it," I said, more often than not.

"Now," he said, as if the mandatory declaration of love had been done for the day, "what are you going to say to him?"

"Hmm," I said, leaning back in my chair and considering. "I suppose I will be honest."

"That's probably for the best," he said. "Will you let me read it?"

"You want to read my letters again?" I asked, mock-horrified. "Don't you trust me?"

"Not at all," he said, smiling, and then he threw the paper wad back at me.

Later that night, after many drafts, I finished:

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

 _Dear Father,_

 _I suppose it is for the best that I do not mince words. Gandalf was right; I am in love with the Elvenking, and he with me. It happened before either of us knew it was possible. I don't think we believed it until it was upon us and we were unable to deny it. Now we are stuck, father, in a purgatory of being unable to marry and being unable to separate. This was the cause of our altercation the night of the Midsummer Feast, and the cause of our mutual distress. What are we to do? When has this happened before?_

 _Furthermore, I am in love with the Woodland Realm. I feel I am as unable to separate myself from it as from Thranduil himself. To me, they are two parts of a whole which bring me completion. Yet, due to my unsettled state, I suffer from incessant grief. So does Thranduil. Please do not fault him; he did not know it could happen as much as I, and perhaps it came as more of a surprise to him than myself. He tried far more valiantly than I to resist the forces which inevitably led to our mutual condition._

 _It almost seems as if it were fated to happen, but if it were, why should it be? There seems to be no purpose behind it except to cause us misery. I take that back; we suffer immense misery, but we also have something between us which we value above anything else, which I cannot live without, and neither can he._

 _He treats me well, father, as his counselor and not merely his scribe. I am as embroiled in the inner workings of his kingdom as anyone, and I relish the time I have in his court and in his forest. I love the Silvani, they are a lively and kindly people, less polished than the Rivendell elves but more friendly and easier to know, and more content with life in Middle Earth. I see now why the Sindari chose to make their home with them, and why they stay; the Greenwood is a wonderful place to be._

 _Here I have gone on about how wonderful it is while grieving my unsatisfied love for Thranduil. I know it seems like a juxtaposition, but at the very least I have a companion in my grief, and a companion in life. Someday I will visit Rivendell, but I will never leave the Greenwood forever. This is my home, now._

 _I hope these revelations will not be too hard. I hope they will, instead, help you make some sense of the past forty years. Your counsel is valued, if you should have any._

 _Love,_

 _Eren_

oOoOoOoOoOoOo


	16. Entry Sixteen: Smeagol

-ooOOoo-

 _To Captain M. Tuniel_

 _Post House, Wiltshire, The Green Wood, Rhovanion_

 _Captain,_

 _I have received details of what occurred on the night in which your army "put down the Wiltshire insurrection". I am hereby calling off the excavation. You have been relieved and will return to Gondor, as will my students. It is not worth the cost._

 _Mr. B. Surrey_

 _Academiae Hall, Old Minas Tirith, Gondor_

-ooOOoo—

It was months before I heard back from my father, in fact it took so long that I began to wonder if my letter had been received, or if he had disowned me, or a myriad of other anxieties. Thranduil suffered the same anxiety as I, although perhaps exacerbated by past grievances between the Woodland Kings and the Noldor to which I was hardly privy. Eventually, though, following the Spring Feast, I did receive this:

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

 _Dear Eren,_

 _If I had been paying attention, and open to all possibilities, I would have known. For my lack of attentiveness, I am sorry. I should have known. I should have seen it. I did not. In my defense (if there is any), I have been caught up in the storm that is coming. You didn't live through the great wars of the last age, but I will tell you I hope that wars of that magnitude never come to Middle Earth again. They bring nothing but grief and sorrow. I fear the coming storm will be great._

 _However, I suppose now you are acquainted with grief and sorrow of a different type than that of war. I cannot imagine it, nor can imagine how it can has happened in this way. Know that you have my empathy and sympathy. I would not want this for you. I wonder if, had I decided differently whether to send you to scribe in the Woodland Realm, this wouldn't have happened, but the more I turn it about in my mind the more I realize it was going to happen. I felt strongly to send you there, and though I thought I knew the reasons why, sometimes there are forces at work of which we are not aware. It has happened, for better or for worse, and now it must be faced._

 _If you want answers, I'm afraid I don't have any. I do, however, feel that there is purpose in what you experience, and that purpose is yours to discover. While your permanent sojourn into the Woodland Realm saddens me, I also recognize that it is where you need to be. I resent that the Elvenking has taken you from me, but I concede that my resentment only lies on a superficial level; it is myself, as your father, who worries for you and demands you be cared for with the utmost attention, that you be valued, that you have the opportunity to find the happiness which I believe you deserve. Can you find that with the Elvenking? Is it possible? Perhaps these are questions you can ask yourself, and then perhaps you can provide your own answers, and then commit your own actions._

 _I am always here._

 _Love,_

 _Father_

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

For whatever reason, my father's letter made me cry and miss him terribly. There is something comforting about one's origins.

Later, I allowed Thranduil to read the letter from my father, while we sat near the stream upon the rock, waiting for the elk. This was a place we went often after court, to talk about the kingdom or ourselves or to not talk at all, but instead sit and experience the forest.

As he finished reading he let out a puff of air and looked at the clear sky.

"I should probably write him," he said. "Or perhaps I should have written him, already."

"For what purpose?" I asked.

"I'm not sure," he said, considering. "An apology, perhaps?"

I laughed a little.

"Wasn't your last letter to him an apology as well?" I asked.

He smiled ruefully.

"I suppose that's where my hesitation lies," he said. "Were this a _normal_ situation, I would write a letter to him for his blessing on asking for your hand in marriage."

I glanced down and smiled.

"But instead the only thing I can say is, I'm sorry for ruining your daughter's life," he said.

"How extreme!" I said, finding his overstatement a bit funny.

He smiled a little, but seemed to believe it, to whatever degree.

"That seems like a terrible thing to say in a letter," he went on, "so I haven't done anything about it at all."

"Sounds like something I would do," I said.

"You're obviously a bad influence," he remarked.

I laughed, and he seemed to like that.

"But Eren," he asked, thoughtful, "am I being selfish with you?"

"Are you?" I inquired.

"Perhaps I should let you go," he said.

"Where would I go?" I asked.

"I don't know," he said. "Somewhere happier."

"I don't want to be anywhere else," I said.

"I don't want you to be anywhere else," he supported, "but I don't want you to be unhappy, either."

I became immediately aware of being there, upon that warm rock in the golden afternoon sunlight next to a clear, singing stream, in the beautiful forest I loved the most, and next to Thranduil. As he gazed as me, threads of pale hair drifted free from his modest queue, framing his fair face with the temperate wildness of the Greenwood itself. I reached up to touch a defiant lock of hair, sliding it back with tenderness and care behind his ear.

"Do I seem unhappy to you?" I asked him softly.

"Right now?" he asked. "In this very moment? No… you do not."

"That's all one can hope for," I said, though my smile may have been tinged with a certain… not quite _sadness_ , but something more akin to mild melancholy.

He seemed to experience a twisting from my actions and words and emotions, and elements of gratitude and anguish battled on his face. He drew up his knees and crossed his arms around them to turn his gaze out towards the stream and woodlands, and let out a long breath.

"I simply don't want you to give up anything for me," he said. "That you might have otherwise."

"What is this that you are coming up with?" I asked, almost finding it humorous.

"What I mean is a normal life," he said. "With a… husband… and children… and _normalcy_."

"Firstly," I said. "What is normalcy?"

"What I've just said," he said.

"Fine," I said. "I suppose, yes, I have always hoped to have children, seeing the joy it brings my father. I am quite sold on the happiness that comes from familial relations, I cannot deny it."

"Then you should have it," he said.

I fell back to lie on the stone, staring up through the leaves above us towards the blue sky beyond, and sighed.

"But, Thranduil," I said, and then paused, nearly unable to broach this subject, because it was _serious_ , "does it not feel as if, perhaps, we have…"

I noticed him tense, as if he were averse to me saying it, but it only emboldened me as proof he'd felt it, too.

"As if we've bonded?" I asked.

It took him a very long time to answer, but at last, he did.

"Yes," he said, his voice so quiet it was almost lost in the sound of the stream.

I stared up, helpless, through the branches above. At length, his hand came down to rest upon my ankle.

"I knew it when I couldn't bear the idea of you fading," he said.

"I knew it when I began to fade," I said, "because of you, because of _you._ "

I drew a shaky breath and let it out, and he squeezed my ankle gently.

"What makes you different?" I asked Thranduil, and the sky.

"What do you mean?"

"Are you bonded to your wife, too?" I asked.

"I… was," he said.

I glanced at him.

"Are you not any longer?" I asked.

"I can't know," he said. "She's been gone so long in the Undying Lands I cannot tell."

That troubled me, and I returned my gaze to the trembling leaves. He patted my ankle before pulling his hand away, and then spoke:

"Would you like to know what I like about you?" he asked, as if meaning to bring a bit of levity to our talk.

"Yes," I said, finding him amusing.

"I like how engaged you are in the Woodland Realm," he said.

"Do you?" I replied.

"In fact, I love it," he said. "You are more interested in everything happening in the kingdom than anyone, and you absorb it all, and you form opinions about it, and you and I… the conversations we have… they are charming and fascinating and wonderful."

"Oh, I've been flattered," I said, smiling.

"But it's all true," he said, "not a bit of what I've said is embellished!"

"It is true that I love your kingdom and thrive on its workings," I admitted. "I sometimes think I'm as in love with your kingdom as I am with you."

"Shall I be jealous?" he asked.

"I can't leave you for it, if that's what you fear," I said.

He laughed.

"Or if I did, you'd still be here," I said. "There's no escaping one or the other. You're a pair, a set of two, unsplittable."

"You've just killed two birds with one stone," he said. "How efficient of you."

"I sincerely hope my presence doesn't kill you both," I said.

His touch returned to my ankle and he said, "No, your presence augments the both of us. We've grown reliant on you, now."

"I suppose I'm stuck with you," I said.

"For now," he said, the restlessness of our uncertain path in his voice and touch.

Years passed in this way, with me attempting to navigate my way through discovering why I was so driven to be there and why Thranduil and I were so driven to be together. We were forced to develop a certain selfless love that comes from denying what one wants for the benefit of someone else, and that we did, for what seemed like ages. Yet, I drew comfort from him and he from me.

Although I write this record as if we were perfect; we were not, though we tried to be. There were certain instances, when perhaps too much sylvan wine was had, or perhaps Thranduil was feeling _especially_ impulsive on a particular day, that resulted in a passionate embrace or a stolen kiss. We were not perfect, for it was all too easy for the embers between us, with an errant wind, to be whipped into a maddening flame. We both, though unspoken, recognized this flame could consume us and our reason if we were not careful with it, and with this knowledge we generally managed fine, if cautiously.

One summer night, things went differently. I could sense it in the air; I could sense it in Thranduil. I had come to know him so well and had become so attuned to his moods that at this time I could feel his impulsiveness and erraticism pulsing from him in great waves. He seemed off-balance, or out of order. We were in his study, and I had just finished scribing a dictation to Gandalf regarding the current state of Smeagol, and Thranduil couldn't seem to stop pacing. He was agitated, and neither of us knew why.

The weather was warm, unusually so, and it had been for weeks. As a result, despite it being deep in the night, Thranduil's study stifled just enough to be uncomfortable. We had all taken to wearing lighter fabrics and less layers in the interim to cope, and tonight was no exception. I wore a thin linen gown, dyed a soft berry color, with only a fine, soft white cotton undergown beneath, and Thranduil forsook any embellishment or robes; he wore only a linen tunic and leggings, tucked into his boots, and the plainest of golden crowns. Regardless, we still suffered, and no fires were lit for both the benefit of reducing heat for our own comfort, and reducing the possibility of setting the forest's dry underbrush aflame. It was possible this unnatural, unexplained weather waylaying his forest had spurred Thranduil's erraticism as much as anything else. It did have the tinge of dread to it, as if something was coming, yet we knew not yet what.

The creature Smeagol had been a prisoner with us for years, now, and in an act of mercy and for the hopeful good of Smeagol's mental well-being, Thranduil had him brought up into forest regularly for the fresh air that it might help him regain some cogency. He was even allowed to climb a great tree often, one which stood away from all the others, and guards were set at the foot of it until he deigned to come down. Gandalf told us he had hopes for Smeagol's cure, and so we were as kind as we could be to our prisoner.

"The guards tire of watching the creature," said Thranduil, "yet Gandalf bids we continue."

"Do you think he can be cured?" I asked.

"I do not know," said Thranduil, though he didn't appear hopeful. "There has been no improvement that I can perceive in all these years."

"You have done what you could," I said, "and have been generous for Gandalf's sake."

"Perhaps for Middle Earth's sake," said Thranduil, thinking.

"Perhaps," I said, and then: "What is the matter?"

"I don't know," he said, restless.

I stood and he glanced at me, so I moved to him and placed my hand on his shoulder, perhaps to calm his mood. His hand came to mine, and his eyes came to mine, and he took my wrist in his grasp and held me in his gaze, his restless, striking gaze. It wasn't always so, in fact, his gaze almost never held so much turmoil, and I wondered at it, wondering why, what had gotten into him, when all at once he bent down and kissed me.

He kissed me, holding my wrist aloft, with a slight slip across my skin from the sweat of his palm, until he found solid purchase, tight, unyielding, and he held me there and kissed me with a certain intense focus, as if he had fully committed to doing so and was going to take from it everything he could get.

I allowed it; at first I allowed it, then I fell into it, as if it were a deep pool into which I had only gazed, but then fell in, head first, forgetting that I would soon need to breathe again, and then not caring whether I would breathe again. I felt him moan against my lips, that rich timbre of sound and feeling, and then was dimly aware that I'd done so, myself, and then the need for air wrenched me and I was gasping, gasping for air against his mouth. His hand came to my hip, grasping, sinking in with clumsy passion, and he pushed me, suddenly, towards the desk, then we struck against the desk, and then down onto the desk we fell, collapsing upon its surface, so hard yet _wonderful,_ my wrist still in his maddening grasp now pressed back against the wood and his mouth was upon me and his weight, his _glorious weight_. His other hand dragged at the hem of my skirts, and slid, heat, sweat and all, to my thigh and then pulled my leg up, bending, aside, and the noise he made as he pressed against me, unobstructed by all but thin linen, would haunt me for an age. I surrendered to him, I took his kisses, his caresses, his passionate movements, and I absorbed them and gave him free reign upon me, the conqueror, the reluctant conqueror.

A knock came upon the door and we were startled from our combined fever dream, a gasp escaping Thranduil's mouth upon my collarbone. I touched his face, his temple with its light sheen of sweat.

"One moment," he called.

The next several seconds might have been considered _highly comical_ if viewed without an involved lens. Suffice it to say, we did end up appearing wholly normal in what must have been a record amount of time.

"Come in," said Thranduil, who sat, serene, behind his desk.

I, equally serene while sitting on a nearby chair, holding a piece of paper and a pen (there was no ink, but I don't think anyone noticed), observed the guard as he entered, and he looked frazzled and grave. It was then that I began to feel there was a reason behind Thranduil's agitation, that perhaps he was sensitive to things that I could only begin to perceive, and that this was no ordinary night, and it was going to be a long night, and terrible.

"Your Majesty," said the guard, his breath short, "We are under attack."

Thranduil stood at once as if this is what he had been waiting for, and fierce wrath ignited on his face.

"Who?" he demanded, circumnavigating his desk. I stood, too.

"Orcs," said the guard, "and there are many."

Thranduil made a furious sound and made for the door. The guard followed him out.

"My armor and sword!" I heard him call as he entered the hall.

Then I was left alone in his office, his quiet office, while it seemed all outside was a wild commotion. In the hall I could hear and see guards and soldiers passing, distant yells, the sounds of metal, and Thranduil was gone, swept into this war in which we'd just been thrust.

Was this the coming storm my father feared?

I came to my senses and ran into the hall where I dodged soldiers and the chaos of everyone trying to organize amid a surprise attack, and bolted for my room. There was my armor, there was my bow, and I hastily strapped everything on with my quiver and made for the surface.

No one noticed me, being as embroiled as they were with defending the Greenwood, as I moved among the woodland soldiers and ran out of the front gates. The gates had not been reached, and I found relief in that as I cast about for the source of the battle sounds I heard. It was dark; extremely dark, so the best I could do was nock my bow and run towards the noises of war.

I did not enter this battle overtly, however, for I wasn't so stupid nor so courageous. I _snuck._ My ears led me down the path towards the clearing in which Thranduil had received me before I left the Greenwood the first time, and I moved forward, from tree to tree, in the shadows. I could hear fighting ahead, and I could see light, torches brought by the orcs who could not see so keenly as us elves. I tried to still my breathing, to calm it, to stay as quiet as I could, and to quiet my nerves. I did not like war, but I did not like anyone threatening _my_ beloved Greenwood.

At last I reached full view of the clearing and I could see shadows fighting amidst shocks of orange-red light, the faces of the hideous, malformed, hateful orcs, the pitiful creatures, so full of rage and resentment and _wrongness_. The woodland elves were cutting them down left and right with arrows and blades, but there were so many of them, they flowed forward out of the woods like a streaming, oozing black oil that threatened to overwhelm, like a cup filled to the brim, about to spill, nearly spilling, and the elves were barely holding them back. _There were so many of them._

I drew my bow in the shadows and fired.

One.

Two.

Three.

I looked for Thranduil, but I saw Legolas, who had forsaken his bow and was struggling to keep the tide of orcs back in the clearing using one longknife in his right hand and another to parry. I shot the orc that assailed him before he could kill it himself, and he cast his eyes around to see who had done it. His keen sight did not miss me, despite the shadows in which I hid. His eyes widened, yet he had not time to respond further, for two more orcs were upon him. He took down one, but I took the other.

Beside Legolas fell an orc holding a torch, and I watched as it kindled in the parched undergrowth which had been cultivated by these hot, dry weeks.

"Oh, no," I whispered to no one, feeling as if our troubles had just multiplied.

Legolas and the elves around him attempted to smother the flame, but I could see that more had been started in the field; there were simply too many torches and too much ripe kindling, and too many orcs. They hadn't time to stop it, they had to fight off the orcs, orcs that seemed as if they cared not for their own lives, and cared not for the fire, but had succumbed to a war-rage which consumed them like the fire did dry grass, and would only be satisfied with murder and destruction.

"Legolas!" I cried, running into the field as the fire grew and smoke created a wall that began to obscure him from my view. I flung off my cloak, grabbed a longknife from a fallen soldier as weak protection, and threw my cloak over the flame, kneeling on the ground, trying to kill it before it could kill us. Around me I could hear, acutely, the sounds of mortal combat; the grunts, the yells, the horrid sounds of blades plunging true, again and again, yet through the smoke I could see very little.

An orc parted the smoke before me like a curtain, horrible, pale, malformed, its rage coming down in full force upon me, and I scarcely managed to roll out of the way before its spiked club thundered into the ground. With only a second or two to make the decision, I grabbed my bow, nocked an arrow and shot the orc in close quarters, through the neck, and sprang back as it didn't fall to the ground immediately, and instead lifted its great club again, as if to strike, yet its strength slowly waned. Its club fell back to the ground. It tried again to lift, but then, at last, fell to the ground and did not move again.

I found that I was shaking, that I had nocked another arrow without realizing it and my hands shook as I crouched on the ground. I fell completely back, dropping my bow and arrow, and sat upon the ground, knowing I needed to get up, I _had_ to get up, hearing the sounds all around me, and watching the flame grow, but I was in shock. The chaos of war had overwhelmed me, and I knew I was ill-equipped for handling it well. This was, however, _my Greenwood_ , and how very dare these orcs attack it, attack _us_. The outrage refueled me when the horrors of war threatened to consume my will.

After a moment, I roused myself and shouldered my bow and reached, my hand shaking, for the longknife, and I gripped it until my knuckles were white. I heard a grunt and the sound of metal striking metal just to the right of me, and through the smoke I saw grappling figures, one hideous, one fair. I grabbed my cloak and ran for the nearest spurt of yellow-orange flame and smothered it just as an orc fell, lifeless, to the ground beside me and I barely dodged its crude, blackened, bloody sword. The orc had fallen upon my cloak, and I shoved it, grunting, rolling it over and off, but I took its sword and threw the longknife aside.

"Lady Eren?" a soldier asked, likely the one who had killed this orc, and he looked as surprised to see me as he might be to see a pink-winged unicorn. We both glanced at the blackened orc blade which I was now brandishing, and I forged on, unwilling to cede it was a crude weapon, indeed.

"We have to put out these fires," I said with urgency. "They'll burn down the whole Greenwood!"

We were attacked at once before the soldier could respond by two orcs which had broken through the front lines, and I threw my sword up with all my strength to parry the blow which I saw coming, rushing, and then crushed against me and flung me, without order, down, into disorientation; I felt the ground against my back and weight upon me and I shoved with everything I possessed. The orc was thrown off and I jumped to my feet and used my superior speed to outpace him and felt for my bow and realized it was _broken._

The orc, whose face had reflected fear as I reached for my bow, regained his courage when he saw as well as I that it had been snapped into a sharp break by the force of our fall. He charged me, but I was so furious my bow was broken _because of him_ , that I attacked him with it, thrusting it like a ragged spear into his neck, and my aim was true and deadly. He fell to his knees and I thrust it down into his neck, pushing, pushing, crushing his life and, in my mind, all the orcs that had attacked us, letting my rage release into this one, volatile kill. My vision was consumed by my fury until I woke and saw the soldier nearby, watching me, and I felt embarrassed, for I had done too much. I released what was left of my bow and left it where it was, embedded in the orc.

The woodland soldier didn't judge me; he held out the crude sword for me, the one I had previously been holding. I took it with gratitude.

"Shall we put out the fires?" he asked, releasing his cloak from his shoulders.

"As many as we can," I said, snatching my now-tattered cloak from the ground.

We ran towards the fray, towards the closest fire we could see.

"Where is the king?" I asked him as we crushed down the flames together.

"I don't know," said the soldier, "but I believe he is at the forefront of the battle."

That made my insides cringe, and worry, and twist, but I couldn't dwell on it, not right now. I had to have faith that Thranduil could take care of himself.

The soldier and I moved to the next fire, and the next. Adrenaline wouldn't let fatigue set in, despite the acute stress of the situation, and despite the violent attacks of orcs. We had pushed them back, having reached the tipping point and then shoving it forward, and were nearing the trees; the clearing was empty of orcs and fire, and only held thick smoke and dead bodies. They began to flee before us, even with their superior numbers, and we pursued them into the woods. Here it became a guerilla warfare game; within the trees the woodland elves were superior by tenfold, and the orcs were trapped by the size of their army so accustomed to fight with sheer overt force, and they were doomed by the forest, which hated them as well.

I managed to procure another bow and enthusiastically leapt into the process of whittling them down, of exacting revenge, of mortally punishing them for daring invade our land. Soon the orcs were running from us in terror, desperate for escape from this trap in which they had placed themselves.

At last, as we pursued the remnant of orcs, we reached the glade in which a great tree stood, away from other trees; the tree in which the prisoner Smeagol often climbed. I finally saw Thranduil fighting at the head of the elves, his white and gold turned grey and smoky in the blue-black of night. The intensity of his revenge was palpable even at this distance.

In this glade, the orcs would make a final stand, though we didn't realize it at first. There were more of them than we knew, and two groups of orcs suddenly emerged, charging from the sides of the glade in a second attack, halting us before we could chase the others back into the forest, keeping us within the glade, where our effectiveness was reduced.

The soldier with me and I returned to our task of killing fires to protect the forest, but we were pressed in, hemmed in on either side by the crushing forces of orcs, and I saw behind one line of orcs a fire alight and run, fairy-like, across drought-dried moss to the side of Smeagol's tree, and there, lit by the orange of firelight, against the trunk of the tree were two elven guards, dead, pinned into the trunk by crude orcish spears, cruelly, horribly murdered. I found myself staring at the implications, at the very idea that Smeagol, the miserable wretch, had been _rescued_ by an army of orcs, by an army driven by the will of the shadow.

Who _was_ he?

Why did Sauron want him free?

How important was Smeagol that an army of orcs was expendable for his freedom?

None of it made any sense, but I was driven out of my questions by the growing fire on the other side of the orc line. I turned to the soldier with me.

"We have to break through," I said, and he agreed.

"Shoot them from behind me," he said, and he charged forward, towards the line, head-on.

I fired. Again. Again. Another orc went down, and another. A throwing axe flew at me from somewhere down the line, and I dropped down to hear it whistle past, above my head. The soldier grappled with two orcs, and I rose and fired again, dropping one, yet the other had a dagger I didn't know about, and before I could shoot the orc, the solder had been stabbed, and he folded, his silhouette strained, suddenly vulnerable, and ringed in orange and yellow-hot before the growing flames just beyond. I might have screamed; I don't know what I might have uttered or oathed, but I fired at the orc, again, and again, trying to will its death to erase what had just happened to my friend whose name I'd not yet learned, as if I could change time. The orc had no chance, but the soldier fell to his knees in weakness, and I fell to my knees beside him.

I grasped his hands as they clutched his wound.

"Do not die," I told him, _ordered_ him, and then put my arm around him.

Around us I could see the line of orcs had been weakened though still deadly, yet they'd been broken up, and it couldn't be long before these, too, would flee before us into the forest.

"Come, stand," I cried over the din of fights and deaths, and he did, attempting to do so without my assistance, but failing and being forced to lean upon me as we turned to limp towards safer ground.

We hadn't gone far, however, when a cry rang out among the orcs in their miserable tongue, and I knew not what they said, but they all began to abandon the fight and make for the woods to the east, beyond Smeagol's tree. Orcs from the other end of the field began to come through, desperate to get through us to the east, swinging deadly blows to anyone in their path, and I had to release the soldier to make use of my bow. The elf crumpled beside me to one knee, but held his longknife aloft in defense as I shot anything that came near us in the orcs' retreat.

"Oh _stars_ , the fire!" cried the soldier and I turned to see the orcs had thrown their torches on the east side of the field and great wafts of smoke were ballooning diagonally upward into the sky, and I watched as fire shot up, up along the dry vines upon the tree in lines, thin, yellow, then spreading more, across the branches and into the leaves.

"No!" I cried, unable to look away, and knowing it was over; we'd lost the war against the fire.

"Lady Eren!" I heard the soldier cry, just before I was struck, spun; the ground rushed up at me like a catapult, and when it hit me I knew nothing more of that night.

-ooOOoo-

 _ **A/N: I am extremely excited to finally make it to the beginning of events in LOTR! (The reason why Legolas was at Rivendell in the first place and became part of the Fellowship was Smeagol's escape) It was super fun to flesh this whole event from the perspective of Mirkwood, taken from a few lines spoken by Legolas at the Council of Elrond.**_


	17. Entry Seventeen: Fire

-ooOOoo—

 _To: Mr. T. Brown_

 _Wiltshire, The Green Wood, Rhovanion_

 _Dear Cousin,_

 _Please tell me you are well. I ended it all and called off the guards. You have my humblest apology. Just tell me you are well._

 _B. Surrey_

 _Academiae Hall, Old Minas Tirith, Gondor_

-ooOOoo—

Entry Seventeen:

I woke in a slow succession of things: first, distant consciousness and the sound of fabric fluttering in the wind. Second, a feeling of warmth and softness. Third, light, the white-hued sunlight of mid-morning radiating from a window near the bed upon which I had been placed, and then fourth, when I tried to move: a sharp, agonizing pain in my head.

I learned quickly that remaining still would reduce the throbbing of my headache, and so I concentrated on breathing and observed the world around me. I was in the healing wing of the woodland halls, in a small but pleasant room that had a window, an unusual item in the underground fortress. I wondered what I would see through that window. I wondered how long I had been here. I wondered what happened after I'd been struck down.

The last bit stirred me out of my self-coddling and bade me get up, despite the pain in my head. I sat up, slowly, and, as my sight threatened to turn black in the lightheadedness of being upright, I willed myself to stay conscious.

I drew a long breath and let it out, and then looked out the window, and gasped at what I saw.

Ash, thick, blackened trunks of trees, and still-smoking piles of charcoal were all I could see across the steep mountainside. In the air floated the dust of ash, the blue of the sky was dulled to white by it. Everything was burned, horribly _burned._ My eyes seared and I began to cry.

Crying hurt, so I sniffed it back and made myself stop, wiping the tears from my eyes.

The door opened.

"Lady Eren," said the attendant from behind me, "you should not be up."

I stood and faced her in defiance, yet the room swam when I did and I wound up leaning heavily on the window pane to stay upright.

"Is the king well?" I asked, feeling defeated anyway.

"His Majesty is fine," she said. "Now, please-,"

"What about the soldier who was with me?" I asked. "The one who was stabbed in the stomach? Is he alive?"

The attendant took a moment to process my questions, then said, "He is."

"Where is he?" I asked.

"He is in the next room," she said, "but you should-,"

I threw myself back into standing and lurched for the door.

"Lady Eren," insisted the attendant.

"Yes, yes," I said, leaning on the doorframe, "I will lie down soon."

I found the knob of the door next to mine, and managed to open it, and there he was: the person I'd fought beside, yet didn't know his name. He was prone, asleep, covered by a thin blanket. I moved to his bedside to look at him properly.

His hair was tawny, a woodland color, and I felt strange not knowing the color of his eyes, but I didn't have to wonder for long, for he stirred and awoke, though slowly, and looked up at me.

"Lady Eren?" he said.

I couldn't help smiling at him. Also, his eyes were green.

"You're alive," I said.

"So are you," he said, and began to try to sit up, but I stopped him with my hand on his shoulder.

"Don't move on my account," I said.

"I must," he said, seeming to feel improper, and he gingerly brought himself to sit. "You were struck from behind by an orc with a club… I didn't know if you would live."

"Then what happened?" I asked, and I sat at the foot of his bed.

"The one that struck you was one of the last of them as they fled," he said. "So, help was easy to come by, besides those who were vainly fighting the fires."

I sighed.

"I saw out my window the result of the fires," I said.

"It's not… as terrible as it might seem," he said.

I just looked at him.

"Parts burned, but other parts didn't," he said.

"What I have seen looks terrible," I said.

"It happens from time to time," he said. "Think of it as a way the forest has of renewing itself. New undergrowth and trees have a chance to take root and the ash brings health to the soil."

"I didn't know that," I said, realizing I had much to learn about the forest.

"I didn't say we _like_ it," he said, smiling wryly. "But it isn't all disastrous."

I smiled back at him.

"What's your name?" I asked.

He laughed, and then so did I at the absurdity that I didn't yet know such a crucial detail.

"I'm sorry I don't know," I said. "I feel as if I should already."

"Do not worry," he said. "My name is Sildere."

"I'm glad we've met, Sildere," I said.

"So am I," he said. "I did not expect you to fight half as well as you did."

"I didn't know what to expect, since it was my first battle," I said.

"Hopefully it was your last," he said.

"I don't think we are finished with the shadow," I said, and we both fell silent for a long moment.

The door opened and I turned to see Thranduil standing in the doorway in his plainer clothes, and he appeared wholly uninjured, which I was glad to see. He also looked apprehensive as he glanced over Sildere and me.

I stood.

"Your Majesty," I said, yet I immediately regretted standing as the room jolted violently and my vision went black.

I regained consciousness in bed, in the room next to Sildere's with the window, and beside my bed was a chair in which Thranduil lounged, one leg crossed over the other, observing the burnt forest through the window.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked, and he started, jumping to his feet and coming to my bedside to look down upon me.

His gaze shifted from concern and relief to reproving. He took my hand.

"Why were you out there?" he demanded.

"I wanted to help," I said.

"You should not have gone out," he said.

"Why shouldn't I?" I asked.

"Because of this!" he said, gesturing to my situation.

"You don't know what might have been different had I _not_ gone out," I said.

"I know you wouldn't have been almost killed by an orc," he said.

"Perhaps I saved lives by being there," I said. "Perhaps I saved parts of the forest from burning. Perhaps I was part of the whole that turned the tide of the orcs."

Thranduil sighed at me.

I glanced at the window, feeling despondent. After a while, I spoke again.

"How many times have you seen the forest burned like this?" I asked, my voice sounding small.

I felt Thranduil squeeze my hand.

"Many times," he said. "I have lived in this forest for ages. In the spring, new green will grow, and new branches will emerge from the charred trees. It will seem more beautiful than before."

"You're so calm about it," I said, my voice wavering.

He bent over me and kissed my brow.

"I love you," he whispered into my ear, and I don't know why it made new tears well up in me, but it did, and they spilt, and he kissed them as he brushed my hair back from my face.

I closed my eyes tightly.

"I command you to heal," he whispered in my ear. "As my subject."

 _As if I were his to command._

"I need my scribe back," he whispered.

He kissed me, at the soft spot just below my ear, and I sighed.

"And please do not sit on another elf's bed," he whispered. "It infuriates me."

I blinked and turned my head to look up at him, and he had a slight smile on his face.

"Yet what claim do you have on me that I cannot do it?" I asked.

"None," he said with mourning in his eyes. "Except I am your king."

"Are you?" I asked, challenging him.

He caressed my cheek and asked gently, "Am I?"

How cruelly he took the words of contest that I might speak and turned them into love, agonizing love.

"You are," I sighed, a whisper, and he kissed me.

"I love you," he sighed, again, against my mouth.

"I love you," I mourned, lost, pulling him down for another kiss.

Until the shadows deepened, we kissed, grieving for each other.

-ooOOoo—

It wasn't many days before I was back to my usual self, scribing in the king's court, and noticing things like how the weather had turned after the fire, and that the unusual heat was no longer assailing us. Sildere had quickly become my hunting companion in my off-hours, since he was the only person who didn't try to coddle me when I was in a battling situation. He knew what I could do, and he let me do it. We patrolled the fringes of the Greenwood that hadn't burned, fighting back the creeping darkness that tried to take the forest.

A few days after the fire, Thranduil decided that Legolas would be sent to Rivendell to tell Gandalf about the escape of Gollum, and the attack that accompanied it.

"Are you sure you don't want to go with him?" Thranduil asked me as we walked through the halls.

"I do not," I said.

"It would be a good opportunity to see your father," he said.

"It would," I said, "but this is where I am."

His gaze lingered on me as we walked. As we passed through the gates, we could see Legolas was already prepared to leave with his horse and his bow amid the ashes of the burned Greenwood. He smiled brightly at us as we approached, and my appreciation for his lightness was renewed.

Thranduil approached him and grasped his hand.

"Go safely," said Thranduil simply, and then: "Do what you must."

"Yes, Father," said Legolas, returning his grasp.

Then Legolas looked at me, and I threw my arms around his shoulders and hugged him.

"We will miss you," I said into his shoulder.

He hugged me tightly, and then pulled away with a smile.

"Shall I tell your father you've singlehandedly slain more than a dozen orcs?" he asked.

"I do not think that would give him peace of mind," I laughed.

He smiled.

"Good-bye," he said, and then he took to his horse and left on the western road, away from us.

We watched him, even after he was beyond our sights.

"I don't think he will be back for a while," said Thranduil.

"I feel that, too," I said.

Between us, Thranduil's fingers felt for mine, messily entwining like blind vines. I allowed him, enjoying the visceral, chaotic sensibility of his touch. There was nothing neat and tidy about his caress, just like there was nothing neat and tidy about Thranduil. It would never be neat and tidy, and something about that drew me in and kept me captive.

"Will you walk with me?" he asked.

"Of course," I replied.

He took me along a path which meandered down crude stone steps, following the cut of a tiny, trickling stream. The stream tumbled over itself along the mountain path, and this part of the forest hadn't burned and was thick with both undergrowth and small trees among the larger ones. I could hardly see the overcast sky through the thickness of the leaves above. We came to a little garden, tucked within the growth and a hollow in the mountain, where the stream flattened out enough to run by and around rocks and under a small, wooden bridge. We stood upon the bridge and leaned upon its railing to watch the stream flow.

"How are you feeling?" he asked me.

"I'm well," I said. "Recovered."

"Good," he said, and silence hit us again.

It was clear to me that Thranduil had something he wanted to talk about, and so I waited until he was ready to begin with it. I didn't have to wait long.

"Eren," he said.

"Yes?" I inquired.

"I… wanted to apologize," he began, "for my… behavior… the night the orcs attacked us."

I remembered what it felt like to be momentarily ravished by the unbridled passion of Thranduil and felt a blush sink into me.

"That is what I fear, my impulsive, volatile nature," he said. "When it comes, I… do things."

"You certainly do things," I said, agreeing.

"I do things I regret," he said.

"Do you regret it?" I asked.

"Yes," he said, and then: "No. Yes. Ah… _no. Yes!"_

I laughed quietly.

"If we hadn't been interrupted…," he began, but didn't finish, but I knew what he meant and my blush resurged.

"But if the battle wasn't impending, we wouldn't have gotten started in the first place," I objected. "You _sensed_ it, it was your unease in sensing it that drove you to… to…"

I found I couldn't finish.

He let out a shaky breath.

"You are right," he said, as we both tried to ignore the effect remembering it was having on both of us. "Perhaps it was the interruption that was coming which was the cause of our… unease."

"Your unease," I corrected. "Which, then, _caused_ my unease."

"I did not realize I had such an effect on you," he said, catching my gaze.

"Ha," I said, turning to lean back against the railing. "Ha, ha."

He kissed me then, as one who reaches forth to carefully capture a butterfly.

"I should not kiss you," he confided at the end, as he leaned against me, "but I have grown once again accustomed to it."

"It has become a habit," I said, twining my arms around his neck. "One which must be broken."

"How can I do so like this?" he asked within our embrace.

"How did you manage before?" I inquired.

"We were separated," he said.

"I hate that idea," I replied.

He kissed me again.

"But what other recourse do we have?" he whispered against my mouth.

"There was that other time," I sighed, finding myself halfway into a moan.

Again, we kissed.

"I love you," he moaned.

"Focus," I murmured.

"Eren," he sighed, and kissed me again.

"Pay attention," I whispered, touching his face, and he stayed his kisses for the moment. "After we had _that conversation_ at _that Midsummer Feast_ , after I nearly faded, after you feared I would do so, we managed it, do you not recall?"

"It was all a shock to us," he said. "All of it."

"Yes," I said, brushing a lock of his hair back from his face.

"I don't know how we did it," he said after a moment.

I laughed a little.

"I suppose I was so afraid you might leave me," he said, "Or that something I might do could bring you to leave, or to fade, or to go to the Undying Lands… it brought out a caution… a fear in me I didn't know I still possessed. The thought of you leaving struck me with such agonizing paralysis… like a bright white blindness in which I lose all cogency, I had to make certain it would never happen."

I adored him.

"What changed?" I asked, trailing my fingers along his jawline.

"My innate madness charged through that wall the moment orcs poised to attack," he said.

"Are you mad?" I inquired, baiting him. "Are you the mad Sindar king?"

"You should know," he said to me. "Answer your own questions."

I kissed him.

" _Oh, stars,_ " he sighed against my lips, and then whispered, "Are you here to bring meaning to my life or destroy it?"

The overcast, heady sky released its pressure and beat a padded cadence on the leaftops above.

"Perhaps both," I whispered.

He took me into another kiss, both a surrender and an attack.

Big, fat drops fell thick and far between from the leaves above us, and the kiss we shared became punctuated by the cool sensation of a splash here, there, never expected, always sudden, building one drop upon another until we found ourselves drenched and lost in it.

The rain had become thick and messy and loud and we hid within its regenerative powers and our fascination with each other, wet, passionate, unforgiving, demanding, taking, taking… taking until Thranduil, having pinned me against the railing of the bridge, having moved against me with unrelenting fervor, having sighed, moaned, and then, at last, cried out, but soft, but with restraint, vulnerable, in wonder, in agony, in crippling pleasure, with my hand clutching the nape of his neck, and the timbre of his voice upon my ear, we ended, panting, sighing into the rain, desperately finding release and each other.

My need for him grew more acute every day. I didn't know what to do.

We fell into a period of intense passion between us. For a time, I could barely see him without wanting him to touch me, to kiss me, to press me against anything, anywhere with his body. Though we managed, somehow, to keep short of consummation, we made much use of his desk, of his study door, of my door or any door, of the rock by the stream, of trees, of anything at all that was flat in some direction or capable of providing resistance, and, yes (once) of his throne. Our mutual desire seemed inextinguishable. It was a madness in which we were both burning alive.

One afternoon in my bed, just afterward, Thranduil was leaving meandering kisses on my collarbone as an afterthought, a peaceful meditation upon the thrills of just previous.

I drew a long breath and let it out in a sigh.

"I love you," he said, continuing his affection to the neckline of my gown which he had pulled from my shoulder during earlier heat.

"I know," I replied, running my hand through his hair.

Then I dared to ask the question we had been ignoring all these passionate months.

"What are we doing?" I ventured.

Thranduil paused, then moved up to regard me.

"Delaying the inevitable," he said.

I blushed, and he reacted with a touch to the red of my cheek.

"What is the inevitable?" I asked, a little breathless.

"We are," he whispered.

I was caught in his gaze because I _knew it_. Somehow, we were inevitable. But how? Why? He moved against me and my eyes closed of their own accord. I moaned and he slid his arms under me and drove me again, patient, insistent, torturous, wonderful, to release.

I was left disoriented and pleased, and a little chagrined.

"How many times are you going to do that?" I whispered, my breath short.

"All of them," he replied, wanting me.

"Thranduil," I sighed, closing my eyes.

Over time, I let him have more and more of me until there wasn't a part of me with which he wasn't intimately familiar. He was insatiable; and his insatiability drove my own. At times I would wake up from the fever we shared and realize we were living in madness, we were in denial, we wanted everything without paying attention to the real problem. But I wanted him, all the time, everywhere. I knew I was all but his except for a technicality. I knew there was only a thin razor's-edge line between this and fully becoming his wife. His _second_ wife. Some might not have drawn the distinction. Some might have said I already made that choice long ago.

When I paid attention, I noticed that, despite being caught up in a deliriously passionate affair, that something had been lost during this time. Before, we'd been forced to build a selfless love between ourselves of mutual respect out of necessity. These past months, however, as we finally succumbed, we took, we took and took from each other our desires, our wants, our satisfaction. It eroded us, somehow. But if we could hide in the blinding passion of our lovemaking, we could ignore it. It was the ignoring that eroded us, the avoiding of facing the truth. We could deny it if we allowed ourselves to.

One winter night, we found ourselves in the tops of the trees, entangled, heated, clothed but strategically, with the warmth of his skin against mine. It was maddening and strange and intoxicating.

"Eren," sighed Thranduil against my mouth, "I want you."

I made a sound of protest.

"We cannot go on like this," he said, suffering, "We cannot."

I sighed and let my head fall back; I gazed at the stars, the milky shattered stars, crushed diagonally across the sky.

"You're right," I murmured, a confession to the stars.

I looked down to him.

"Options?" I asked.

"Marry me," he said.

I waited for more options.

He didn't go on.

My look turned side-long.

"Please," he added.

I gazed at him for a long while.

While I knew what he had said before about our inevitability was true, I also knew, right then, that the right answer was _not_ 'yes'.

"No," I said.

He seemed not to know what to think, say, or do.

"Eren-," he began, stress working at his seams, but I cut him off gently.

"Not yet," I clarified, touching his cheek, and trying to assure him with my gaze.

He let out a quiet noise of displeasure.

"It isn't time," I said.

"When is it time?" he asked.

"I only know it isn't," I said. "We're… we're… I think…"

I searched for ways to put what I was feeling and, moreover, _sensing_ into words.

"I think what's wrong is we are going about this the wrong way," I said.

Thranduil just watched me.

"We have to find the right way, and, if we follow that, then it will be time," I said. "Then it will work. Somehow. But I know not how."

I looked at him, half expecting he would think me insane, but he was intent.

"This is wrong," I said, glancing about, as if our current circumstances were indicative of our overall circumstances. "We have to repair it, first. Then, we can have that for which we seek. The forest may have been burned by wildfire, but it will regrow, due to the strength of the trees."

He exhaled a short puff of air, as if humorous, but not.

"Why do I suddenly feel tremendously guilty for laying hands on Galadriel's granddaughter?" he asked.

I smiled, a soft laugh in me.

"Perhaps because you should," I said, teasing him.

"You are her granddaughter," he said, seeming surer each time he said it.

"Of course, I am," I said.

"You know what I mean," he said.

I sighed.

"I'm trying to learn how to use it," I said, relenting.

He smiled at me.

"I know you're right, what you've said about us," he said, something of surrender in his eyes. "I cannot doubt it when you know it."

His faith in me was both endearing and scary. I don't think my faith in myself was equal.

"You have had your own moments of knowing," I said.

"When?" he asked.

"When you said we're inevitable," I said.

"Ha," said he, taking it lightly. "I was only guessing."

"Were you?" I asked, gazing at him.

"I was only hoping," he amended.

"It rang true," I said.

He brushed my hair away from my face and caressed my cheek, and then he stood, holding out a hand for me.

"I defer to your judgment," he said, "for mine is imperfect."

I took his hand and stood as well, smoothing down my skirts.

"Mine is imperfect, too," I said.

"Mine has been driving our course for too long," he said.

"Oh, is that what happened?" I asked, and we both found ourselves laughing at it, perhaps wryly.

The truth was, we were tired in so many ways by what we had done to ourselves. We had burned, burned, and burned, until there was almost nothing left.

"Besides," he said as we descended downward, along the steps to his study, "I think we are going to have another war to fight, and we must be at our most aware."

"And," I said, "at our most united."

He looked at me.

"We will bring each other through the war to come," I said. "If we are wise."

His look tipped into adoration, near to spilling.

I held up a hand and said, "You don't need to say it. I know."

Surprise hit his features, and then he laughed.

"Very well," he said, pulling me into his office and shutting the outside door. The fire was lit, lively within the confines of the fireplace, and it was warm, casting dancing shadows all around the room. "I have received word from Legolas."

"Oh?" I asked, instantly intrigued. "How is he?"

"He is well," said Thranduil. "He told Gandalf, and those gathered at your father's place for a meeting, of the attack and Smeagol's escape."

"How did Mithrandir take it?" I asked.

"He wasn't pleased, yet he was grateful for our efforts," he said. "But there is more, Eren."

Thranduil began to look grave, and I began to feel nervous.

"They've found the ring," he said, quietly, as if the dancing shadows might hear.

"Oh skies!" I cried in alarm before I could stop myself. "What are they going to do with it? How can they keep it from him? What are they going to do?"

I was gripped by a certain flavor of panic that can only be brought on by The One Ring. Thranduil took my arms and gazed down into my face.

"Legolas has gone with them, a small party, a _fellowship_ , to protect the ring and take it to be destroyed," he said. "They're going to do it covertly. They know we can't drive through Sauron's forces head-on, so they're going to attempt to sneak it in. To Mount Doom."

"Oh _stars_ , how can they do such a thing?" I asked.

"It is the best plan we have," he said. "But there are things we can do, here."

I gazed at Thranduil.

"You won't believe who it was who had the ring," said Thranduil.

"Who?" I asked.

"The _burglar_ ," he said, "the hobbit."

"The one that had the Arkenstone? And Smeagol's 'precious'?" I asked.

"The same one," he said.

"Dear stars, that fellow certainly has a knack for picking up the most valuable things in Middle Earth, doesn't he?" I asked in wonder.

"Have you deduced what Smeagol's 'precious' is?" he asked me.

"Was it the ring?" I stabbed.

"Yes," he said, and I gasped.

"Is that what… made him that way?" I asked, horrified.

"It is," he said.

"How much misery has that awful ring brought into the world?" I asked, feeling irritated that the thing existed.

"A lot," he said, understating, not caring to embellish.

There was a knock at his door.

"Come in," said Thranduil.

"Your Majesty," said the elf, offering a sealed letter. "From Lothlorien."

"Thank you," he said, dismissing the elf and taking the letter to read at his desk. He opened it and sat.

I felt another surge of missing my grandmother as I waited as he read it. His expression was focused, perhaps even enlivened. Perhaps determined. He glanced up at me, a solidity in his look.

"Sauron's forces are assembling south of Lothlorien and Mirkwood," he said. "Your grandmother believes they hope to divide us, and then destroy our realms separately."

"Then Sauron must prepare to have his hopes dashed," I said, "for we will not be divided."

His determined look glowed with a certain adoration I knew. I also knew that, through me, he had gained a tie that bound him to Lothlorien that would not have existed otherwise. Perhaps I was the pin that held this alliance together, or perhaps I was the binding that allowed these two woodland realms to grow together again after thousands of years of estrangement. Without me, it was possible Thranduil would have never come out of his isolationist shell. He may have never received Galadriel's council invitation, and the groundwork communication of what Lothlorien and the Greenwood currently had may not have been established to face the coming storm. In this moment I began to see why I was here, why I needed to be here, why I mattered, _how just one person can matter._ Above all, I nearly began to cry in relief just because things had begun to _make sense._ There was a purpose to all this.

"Get your things," he commanded, "I have a letter to dictate to Galadriel."

I immediately made for my scribing materials, renewed with my own determination and hope.

-ooOOoo-


	18. Entry Eighteen: Power of the Common Elf

-ooOOoo-

 _To Wiltshire Post House_

 _Wiltshire, The Green Wood, Rhovanion_

 _To Whom It May Concern:_

 _I am looking for news regarding the well-being of my cousin, a Mr. Tomas Brown, who is the owner of the hill of historical artifacts which was the subject of so much debate two seasons ago. Following the altercation with the Gondorian guard, I have not heard from him, and am earnestly seeking after his welfare. Please let me know anything regarding his status._

 _Regards,_

 _Mr. B. Surrey_

 _Academiae Hall, Old Minas Tirith, Gondor_

-ooOOoo—

Entry Eighteen:

 _o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o_

 _To Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien,_

 _The words of your granddaughter are thus: "We will not be divided."_

 _I know what she says is true. Now we must devise a proper plan to keep the Shadow believing he will divide us until it becomes fatefully clear he cannot. For as long as he dwelt at Dol Guldur, it is sure that he knew how little communication there was between our forest realms. It is also sure that he either doesn't know or hasn't noticed how much has changed between our realms since you cast him from that spoiled hill. We will be ready. It is clear that he will attempt an attack on Lothlorien first. I wonder how his army will react when it is forced to fight on two fronts at once? If you can receive him momentarily, we can surprise him from behind. There's nothing so demoralizing as being surrounded. I will ask the men of Dale and the King under the Mountain to join us. Please keep us apprised of when and where._

 _Respectfully Yours,_

 _King Thranduil of the Greenwood_

 _o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o_

I felt both joy and apprehension as I finished scribing Thranduil's dictation. Yes, he'd come out of his shell, he'd left his isolation, and how glorious it was! Yet, this was to be the greatest war I'd yet seen, and that meant danger, and death, and all the things that caused my father and Thranduil and everyone else who fought in the War of the Last Alliance to be scarred and to prefer not to talk about it.

I watched Thranduil with interest as we sealed his letter in the usual way.

"You seem enlivened," I said.

He glanced at me.

"Oh," he said, returning his attention to dripping hot wax on the letter.

"Why?" I asked.

"Why don't you answer your own question?" he said.

I considered, then rested my chin in my palm.

"Is it because you have the opportunity to fight Sauron again?" I asked. "Is this about revenge? Revenge for the last war you fought against him, and the death of your father, and so many of your friends?"

Thranduil flinched a little at that last part, stamping the seal into the soft wax perhaps harder than it needed.

"Is it redemption as well?" I asked, going on, perhaps mercilessly. "Is it your chance to work in tandem, perfectly in tandem, with others, to prove that you can execute a war effort successfully, or even flawlessly, with good judgment and leadership, to defeat the shadow?"

I watched him as he worked at making the letter's seal and fold exactly perfect, refusing to answer my questions.

"Is it also a chance you've jumped at to fight again with the entirety of the woodland realm, including Lothlorien, and to enjoy the kinship you've missed these thousands of years?" I asked.

"Oh, _stars_ ," oathed Thranduil, glancing above. Then he threw his seal in his drawer and shut it, hard. "Why do I ever let you talk?"

"You told me to answer my own questions," I said, smiling. "What was I to do?"

"You didn't have to be so cruel about it," he said, brushing off the desk.

"Is it cruel for someone to know you, Thranduil?" I asked.

"Though I do not care to explain why," he said, "the answer to that question is yes."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because you're forcing me to face things I don't care to face," he said.

I felt sad, then, and sorry. He knew it right away.

"Don't," he said to me, yet the command was vague, and then he gestured for me to follow him from the room.

Outside, he gave his letter to a guard with orders to have it delivered immediately, with as much speed as possible, and then, taking my hand, he walked me to my room.

"It is exceptionally late," he said as we came to my door.

"Is it?" I asked, not caring.

"We will have court tomorrow," he said.

"Good," I said with a smile.

"We have _much_ to do," he said, as much for me as for himself. He seemed as if his thoughts were filled with ideas, concepts, possibilities, and concerns.

I nodded.

"I will need you by my side," he said, refocusing on me.

"I will be there, writing," I said.

His focused expression melted at my loyalty.

"I don't deserve you," he said, a sudden confession.

"Don't you?" I asked.

He went quiet. It was endearing.

"I love you," I said, though I rarely said it first.

He looked even more as if he believed in his undeserving nature. I smiled at him.

"Good night," he said, gently.

"Until tomorrow," I said, leaving into my rooms.

The next few weeks were filled with a flurry of preparation, of training, of arrangements, yet, amidst these preparations we had to keep the enemy from knowing exactly what we were up to.

The enemy used sly means to spy, though they weren't very aggressive, because they underestimated us. However, we had to watch for certain birds with vigilance. Ravens, usually, which weren't often seen in the Greenwood, though they'd become more prevalent in Mirkwood. I had a plan to reduce the chance of being known.

"Go and tell your friends," I said to the winter robin whom I had tamed.

"Pehp!" chirped the robin, and he flew into the bare trees. The robins would, at the least, keep us aware of when spies were around, though they couldn't do much to dissuade the ravens. Yet, I had seen, at least once, a couple of robins haranguing a raven into retreat.

"How quickly you tamed him," said Sildere beside me, leaning on his sword.

"Those winter robins are unusually friendly birds," I said, waving a hand. "If a bit gossipy."

Sildere grinned.

"Although that is not a course which I would have imagined," he said, "It is clever."

"We shall see," I said, not ready to commit to being clever until the idea worked in the first place.

Sildere and I often fought orcs and spiders and other foul things south of the Greenwood, where Mirkwood overtook the roads that eventually led to Dol Guldur. We never strayed far in, but fought back at the edges, trying to push them back and reclaim the forest where we could, and I shot ravens whenever I saw them. This is what I considered my training for the coming battles. We were already at war, and had long been, but had barely accepted our status.

The part of the Greenwood that had burned remained mostly desolate for now, since shortly after the fire autumn was upon us and then winter wherein nothing would grow. The hope was that in the spring everything would grow again, but we weren't there, yet. We were in the depths of winter, and snow fell silently upon the ashes. Our feet tread lightly upon the snow.

"Why did you come to the Greenwood, Lady Eren?" asked Sildere as we were returning to the fortress. Snow fell around us sparsely, in flurries, and I could see his breath in the air before him.

"My father sent me," I said.

"How strange," said he.

"It is, isn't it?" I said with a little laugh. "I don't even think he knew why, though he thought he did."

"What was the reason?" asked Sildere, who had become familiar enough with me to ask such questions.

"He thought he wanted me to keep an eye on the king," I said, grinning.

"I don't think King Thranduil would have liked that," he said.

"He didn't," I said. "Not at first."

"He does now?" asked Sildere, seeming surprised.

"No," I said. "He never does, and he never will."

We both laughed.

"He tolerates it, now," I said.

"I wonder why," said Sildere, and I felt embarrassed for some reason. He noticed, and then went on: "I suppose he's fond of you."

I didn't reply.

"It's clear that he is," he said.

"Is it?" I asked, wondering how clear it was.

"Yes," he said. "He is always aware of your presence. He always dances with you at feasts. You get a substantial portion of his attention whenever you are there."

"I suppose that much is obvious," I said. "Though I think he's quite good at ignoring me when necessary."

"When he must, of course," said Sildere. "He does rule as well as he can."

"You don't think my presence has been detrimental to his rule, do you?" I asked, my mind taking hold on this idea which I hadn't previously considered.

"Even if it were, I wouldn't say so," said Sildere, smiling at me.

"Tch," I said, "I should hope you would, since I suspect such frankness from my friends."

"If you desire frankness, then I will give it to you," he said. "He has been, perhaps, a bit less focused, but he has also been more alive than I have ever known him to be."

"How old are you?" I asked him.

"I'm in my ninth century," he said.

We reached the front gates but leaned upon a tree to continue talking, to delay entrance.

"Then you didn't know him before his wife sailed to the Undying Lands," I said.

"No, that was long before my time," he said. "I've only known him to be the way he was before you came."

"And that was…," I prompted, interested in Sildere's interpretation.

He let out a breath in thought, puffing white in the cold air.

"Empty," he said at last, and I didn't understand it.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Just that," he said, with a faint shrug. "But since you've come, it seems as if everything else has come as well. The wars, the commotion, and the reawakening of the king."

"I do hope it isn't my fault," I said, half-joking.

"I think you are part of a whole," he said. "The wars and the commotion and the change, it all comes together."

"Why do I feel sorry?" I asked.

"Please do not," he said. "At least, for me, you are an important part of the whole."

"Again, I must ask you what you mean," I said, grasping for tangible answers to why I was there in the Greenwood.

"Lady Eren," he said, and it was formal for such a friend.

"You can call me simply Eren," I offered.

"I will only call you that while we are alone," he said, ever mindful of propriety.

"Fair enough," I ceded.

"Eren," he said, "you've opened us to the rest of the woodland realm."

"Are you glad?" I asked.

"Yes," he said, "I'm afraid the king was overcautious in the past, and you've loosened him."

"I'm nervous that it will turn out badly, and then everything will be my fault," I said.

Sildere smiled at me.

"Perhaps," he said, "but I don't think it will be worse this way."

I sighed at him.

"You are very balanced; do you know that?" I asked him.

He laughed and leaned back against the tree.

"Do you ever truly worry about anything?" I asked, smiling at him.

"Of course!" he said. "For example, I worried when that orcish dagger was plunged into my gut."

"Ha!" I said. "And for that you only 'worried'!"

We both laughed until we noticed, both at once, that Thranduil had left the fortress and was observing us from a distance. His pale hair was loose; its blond hues came out in the grey-white palette of snow and ashes, and he wore a long, buttoned tunic in a silvery very pale grey color, with white intricate embroidery and dark trim at the cuffs and neck. His sword was at his hip, slung from a dark leather belt. The most noticeable thing about him, however, was the thunder in his eyes.

When he saw we noticed him, he approached.

"King Thranduil," I said, glancing over him, wondering what he was about, looking so stormy.

"Your Majesty," said Sildere, bowing. Due to Sildere, I remembered proper etiquette and gave the king a nod to show deference.

"Sildere," said Thranduil, "you are dismissed."

"Yes, sire," said Sildere, and, glancing at me, he said, "Until tomorrow, Lady Eren."

I smiled at him as he bowed and made his leave, then shifted my eyes to Thranduil.

"That was abrupt," I said.

"You are too familiar with him," he said.

I was caught off-guard by his directness.

"You are jealous?" I asked. "Of Sildere? Really?"

"You are with him almost every day," he said.

"He treats me as an equal in battle," I said. "He allows me to hone my skills better than anyone, and besides that, he's one of my best friends."

"I don't like anything of what you've just said," said Thranduil.

My mouth fell open with the lack of things to say.

"Have you ever looked at yourself?" he asked me.

"Er, yes," I said, wondering where he was going with this.

"Then you should know that he would have to be an utter fool not to be interested in you," said Thranduil.

"Thranduil!" I objected.

"Do not lead him on," he said.

"Thranduil!" I objected again.

"He should not reach for those of higher status than himself," said Thranduil.

"Then perhaps neither should you," I shot back.

Suddenly, once again, I'd said something I wished so horribly that I could take back, erase, remove from existence. Along with myself. Thranduil recoiled, though it was subtle, and I knew I'd struck him in a vulnerable spot, a place where insecurity lay, in the tender underpinnings of his psyche. He was Sindar, I was Noldor, and this discrepancy had for ages been a point of contention between our people. It was the Sindar not wanting to be ruled by the Noldor that caused Thranduil's father to rebel with the king of Lothlorien to the detriment of himself and all the woodland realm in the Second Age. He knew that, societal pressures taken into account, and despite being a king, he might be considered beneath me.

And then, here was I, one who arrogantly had thought I was exempt from these old prejudices, but instead I found myself advancing them in a new age.

My anger melted away in the shock of having said such a thing, and in the seconds following, I tried to form a retraction as he seemed to try to process what I had so blatantly said. He beat me to recovery, if you can call it that.

"Perhaps I should not," he said, his voice weakened and striking my heart with soft, yet wounding, blows. "No, I certainly should not." I had hurt him, and I hated it.

"No, no," I said, "no, please, I didn't mean that."

"Didn't you?" he asked, nihilistic anyway.

"I was just angry," I said, making excuses. "You were so upset about Sildere-."

"Eren," he said, cutting me off. "You don't appear to have considered _why_ I might be jealous of Sildere."

"Tell me why," I said.

"He is free. I am not," said Thranduil. "He could have you. He could marry you tomorrow if he liked. I can do nothing. I am more powerless than he regarding you, despite being his king, and he is a mere soldier, and it is driving me out of my mind."

"You're certainly looking at this in a strange way," I said.

"Perhaps he can offer you more than I can," he said, looking restless and unsatisfied.

"Is that what you think?" I asked.

"Is it not so?" he asked, more direct.

I looked over his face. He was a king used to getting what he wanted, and now he seemed devastated by the inability to control his own circumstances. Fear had crept into his psyche, I could see it, now that things had changed between us. The balance of power had tilted in my favor, though I didn't care to have it tilt at all. Due to the state of affairs, it merely had become so. He was vulnerable, waiting for me to crush him, perhaps expecting me to do it, perhaps not believing this could end in any other way.

Was I to assure him now? Was that my job? Was this to be my occupation going forward? I didn't want it. His fear was unfounded, but it repelled me due to its need for maintenance. I fixed him with a hard gaze.

"Do _not_ be afraid," I said, and it was a command. I was telling him to do this, not asking. It was an ultimatum.

His eyes blinked once, twice, and he broke from my gaze and looked aside.

"Fear has no place if we are to have a future," I said.

Strain touched his brow, his jawline.

"Do you believe me?" I asked.

"I always do," he said, then glanced back at me.

"Then you should not be afraid," I said.

"Believing you isn't my problem," he said, "but instead it is believing this is best for you."

"This?" I asked.

"Us," he said.

"Oh," I said.

"It isn't," he said.

"How do you know?" I asked.

"Plain logic, Eren!" he said, thunder returning.

I suppose plain logic, if one took all the information we currently had, was right. At least, if one only took all the information we currently had.

"You've done what you needed to do, Eren," he said, "You've united the woodland realm. I'm sure that's why your father felt he needed to send you, even if he didn't know it at the time. Now you can go back and live the life you were meant to live. A decent one. A life that makes _sense_."

"Do you want me to leave you?" I asked.

"I'll be fine," he said, stupid and lying.

I merely stayed quiet, perhaps sullenly so, and observed him. His eye contact with me eventually faltered, then returned, and faltered again. He glanced aside at a passing guard. In time, his eyes came back to me, though it seemed as if he was hesitant to return my gaze.

"Is that so?" I asked quietly.

No, that wasn't so. I knew it. I could _feel_ it. His emotions were bare for me to see, and he knew it.

"It isn't fair," he said so softly I almost couldn't hear it.

"What isn't?" I asked.

"That thing you can do," he said. "How am I to live my life when you can pluck out the truth from me in every instance? How am I to be a person? I need my own _mind_."

He looked as if he truly was suffering under these conditions, and I realized something that hadn't previously occurred to me. Perhaps it was all my fault, this imbalance of power, all caused by whatever ability I had inherited from my grandmother. He couldn't read _my_ mind, he couldn't sense the future like _I_ could, he couldn't cut me to the quick like I had done to him since the first instances of our arrangement. I had been using it, always, wholly to my own advantage, to build advantage upon advantage, until I had overpowered him and left him doubly powerless. It was, perhaps, cruel. I had to rethink how I used it with him. Perhaps I had to learn to respect him and his mind and his ability to make his own decisions without me knowing what he was thinking and feeling all the time. I wondered how my grandmother managed it with my grandfather. I felt another pang of wishing I could counsel with her.

"I'm sorry," I said, for lack of anything better to say, but feeling sorry all the same.

He shook his head.

"I am," I reaffirmed, insistent

"It is I that is sorry," he said. "If I wasn't so lacking in decent, moderate judgment none of this would have happened."

"Must I list for you the countless decent, moderate judgments I have observed you make since the moment I first came to scribe in your court?" I asked. "Because that would be exceedingly tiresome, and I don't want to do it. You're a good king, no, a _very_ good king. I've defended you to my father and to anyone else who will listen to your merits. I had every reason to find you awful, unbalanced, and unreasonable, but you are not. You're wise, careful, and devoted."

"Thank you, Eren," he said, gracious and meaning it, yet his apprehension was not soothed. "But, in the case of you, I've failed."

"You're completely insane regarding me, it's true," I said, and he laughed despite himself, and I loved the sound of it. "No one knows what this is, nor why it exists."

"I do not like at all the feeling of being jealous," he said, confiding in me. "It pains me; it is unfamiliar. I have never felt like this, before. It stems from both my fear of losing you and my knowledge that you would be better off without me. The juxtaposition of those two things stretches me in two different, painful directions."

"You don't know I would be better off without you," I insisted.

"Then I will amend," he said. "It is my belief."

Frustrated at his pessimism, I cast my eyes around to the ashen destruction of the burnt forest around us. What a depressing scene it was! I sighed and leaned more heavily against the tree at my back. I let my head rest back against the bark of the tree and I observed him, I took him in. He was beautiful, cold, especially against the snow and ashes behind him, yet I knew his warmth and how his surface was only a façade, held together to hide the roiling incongruencies inside. There was _so much to him_. So much strangeness. He was not like any elf I had ever known.

He observed me in return, taking me in, and I wondered what he was thinking, but I did not attempt to discern it. I would wait for him to give it to me, if he wished.

In time, he parted his lips to speak.

"Go hunting with me," he said. "Instead of Sildere."

"Treat me as an equal and I will," I said.

"Done," he said.

"Can you?" I asked, doubting him.

"If you will do the same," he said, and I knew what he meant, and again, I felt shame and regret for what I had said earlier. "If you can."

"Of course, I can," I said, hoping I could, hoping I wouldn't say something stupid and insulting to Thranduil without thinking, fearing that I inevitably would.

"Are you certain about that?" he asked, seeming to doubt me, as well.

"I will do my best," I offered.

"Likewise," he said, and we came to terms, an uneasy alliance wherein trust was to be earned through action and time.

I was, however, secretly delighted that Thranduil would now carve out time in his afternoons to hunt with me. In the weeks that followed, he was forced to relent and allow me to be in danger and fight my way out of things, while he did the same. It was difficult for him at first, I could tell. He wanted to jump in front of me and remove all threats the instant they became apparent. However, it wasn't very long before we were using our different skillsets together in strategic ways to drive the spiders and orcs out of the Greenwood wherever we found them. It became quite enjoyable though I could tell this kind of thing was new to Thranduil.

One day, when we were sitting on a ledge resting after causing the ruination of some spiders, I held my bow and watched for crows and decided I wanted to pry a bit.

"Did your wife know battle?" I asked, my eyes on the trees.

"Of course not," he said.

I looked at him.

"Of course not?" I asked, then glanced down at my bow. "As far as I can tell, I had to learn the art of war just to _live_ here."

"That was your father's request," he said. "And due to your inability to stay out of trouble."

"You took me into my first war!" I objected to his placing of all the blame onto me and my father.

"You were my scribe," he said, unruffled. "You had to do your _job_ , of course. And if I recall correctly, you didn't object."

"I certainly didn't know what I was getting into," I said.

"Neither did I," he said with a wry smile on his face. "Regardless, my wife never saw the things that you do, and on a regular basis, I might add."

"What was she like?" I asked, feeling _so_ curious about this elf who I may never know but who impacted my life so greatly due to simply getting here _first_. Thranduil shifted his weight at my question and glanced away.

"Why do you want to know?" he asked with his normal avoidance of things that were hard for him to talk about. "Didn't I already tell you about her?"

"Very little," I said.

He drew a breath and sighed it out, then, crossing his legs before him, he looked at me.

"Do you want to know something terrible?" he asked me.

"Maybe?" I waffled.

"I don't know if my memories of her are true and accurate anymore," he said. "That's how long she's been gone. I don't know how to tell you what she was like. I remember impressions, I vaguely remember her face, I remember some of her words, I remember flashes of things, like colors that may or may not be true to hue."

I found that terribly tragic.

"I only know for sure what was written," he said, "and the few facsimiles which were made of her image, yet it does not paint a whole picture. You ask me what she was like, yet I can't honestly tell you that I know. Memories have a way of altering and building upon themselves until the truth is only reflected in a rippling, shifting pool one must then interpret as best one can."

I watched him quietly, unable to form a response.

"The only thing that is true, and real, is this," he said, glancing around us. "At least, it's the only thing I can verify with certainty."

"Right now?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "That which has already happened no longer exists, except in memory. But memory isn't foolproof, in fact it is quite foolish."

"Yet without memory, I would not be attached to you," I said. "Nor to your forest. You have built a fortress in my memory, one which will not be removed."

He gazed at me.

"I don't want the memory of you to ever fade or alter or change in my mind," he said.

"How can you stop it from happening?" I asked.

He placed his hand on mine.

"It won't happen as long as you're here," he said. "Now."

"Now," I said. "The always now."

"Yes, that one," he said.

"But," I began, and I turned to look westward, towards the Undying Lands. His hand tightened on mine.

"Let's just focus on now," he said, and I was in agreement. It was relief to let the past and future go, for the moment. I knew I would have to address both, but not right then. Right then, we could be on that ledge, fully in each other's company, and no one else's.

Still, I noticed Thranduil's gaze lingered towards the Undying Lands, and I waited for him to voice his thoughts.

"If we manage to defeat Sauron at last," said Thranduil, "your father will go."

I followed his gaze, now, towards the setting sun.

"And your grandmother," he said. "And perhaps all of your kin."

"And you?" I asked.

"I don't know," he said, and a certain unique sadness passed across his face. "But will you?"

He turned to look at me and I met his gaze. He studied me as I withheld my answer. The truth was, I didn't know. I couldn't imagine going away from Middle Earth, from the Greenwood, at this time, but I didn't know how I would feel once the presence of Sauron was gone from the earth or once my father and grandmother and perhaps sister were gone, as well.

"What is it like, there?" I asked him.

His smile was small, slight.

"How should I know?" he asked, and I realized I'd assumed he knew simply due to his long life. However, he was born here in Middle Earth, the same as me. But he drew a breath and went on: "I assume it has more in common with Rivendell and Lothlorien than the Greenwood, if I had to hazard a guess. Your father and grandmother use their rings of power to preserve their realms, and, as you see, I have not a ring of power, unless you count the ring upon your finger as one."

He looked down at the ring upon my finger, the one I had stolen from him so long ago and claimed for my own. It was, of course, not a ring of power. Not conventionally, anyway. Taking my hand, he twisted the ring around my finger.

"Perhaps I would call this a ring of power," he said, looking amused.

"But what power does it have?" I asked.

"Subversion," he said, and I laughed. "Give that back, I've had enough of this insurrection."

He grinned at me, and then began to try to pull it from my finger.

"No, no, no," I said. "Oh, no you don't!"

I pulled at my hand, and he pulled back, though I couldn't stop from laughing. Finally, as he refused to let go, I made a fist, rendering his attempts to remove the ring impossible.

"It's mine," I said, defiant. "I've claimed it."

"No," he protested, pulling it at the impermeable resistance of my fisted finger. "You've not claimed it, you've _stolen_ it."

He was right, though I didn't care, and, since his attempts with force were futile, he changed tack and at once became gentle, persuasive, and he caressed my hand.

"Please," he said, "return what is mine."

He lifted my hand to his mouth and kissed my fingers, near, around, beside the ring, and due to the fact that I had sorely missed his kisses and caresses it was far more persuasive than anything else he could have done. I felt a sigh escape my lips and my fist loosened and, by degrees and kisses, I allowed him to slowly pull his ring from my hand.

When he at last had it in his fist, he turned my hand and kissed my palm. I felt a certain sadness. I wanted that ring, only because it was his, and because when I had it, I had a part of him.

"Now," he said, gazing at me. "We are even."

He kept my hand in his, and held up the ring in his other hand for me to see.

"This," he said, illustrative, "is mine."

Lifting my hand, he began to put the ring back onto my finger.

"And this ring, which is mine," he went on, "I now give to you."

As he slid it into place, he raised my hand to his lips and kissed it.

"Now it is yours," he said.

It was better this way. It was _so much better_ this way. I smiled at him, and he smiled back, then I threw my arms around his shoulders and hugged him. He seemed surprised momentarily, but then he returned my embrace, perhaps having missed our embraces as much as I had.

How long we stayed in our embrace is anyone's guess, but the sun went from half-set to nearly gone as I gazed at it over Thranduil's shoulder. There was an immense comfort I gained from being in Thranduil's arms, and from being within the depths and heart of the Greenwood, and the lush sounds of the forest at dusk comforted us both.

I felt as if the Undying Lands watched us, and waited, and wondered. Behind us was only shadow.

-ooOOoo-


	19. Entry Nineteen: Battle Under the Trees

_**A/N - I got a cold and, though being sick isn't fun, I finally got to slow down enough to write a couple chapters in this fun story. Yay!**_

-ooOOoo—

 _To: Mr. B. Surrey_

 _Academiae Hall, Old Minas Tirith, Gondor_

 _Dear Cousin,_

 _It has come to my attention that you are inquiring after my well-being, though I can't imagine why, considering the small war you started over the possession of some elven artifacts. However, you asked to know, and here you can have it; I'm fine. My hill is fine. The cows are quite enjoying having the hill all to themselves, now that the grass has grown back over. All Wiltshirians are enjoying the lack of Gondorians in Rhovanion in general._

 _Goodbye,_

 _T. Brown_

 _Wiltshire, The Green Wood, Rhovanion_

-ooOOoo—

Entry Nineteen:

The time had come for us to move. Sauron's forces were gathering to take Lothlorien and we could delay no longer. I felt a mixture of excitement and dread over what was to come. We all knew that to fail was to lose everything. The stakes were not trivial. Sauron didn't just want our land. He was no benevolent conqueror. He wanted to eradicate all elves from the face of Middle Earth. There was something about old grudges that tended to fester over time, and Sauron had had a very long time to fester. We would be fighting for our existence.

Though all of that was common knowledge in the Woodland Realm, Thranduil seemed very calm and focused during the time leading up to the conflict. Perhaps Thranduil thrived under these kinds of existential circumstances, or perhaps he simply knew that it wouldn't help our cause to panic.

We split our army into two parts; one to be obvious, to head east out of the Greenwood, to combine with the forces offered of men and dwarves from Dale and the Kingdom under the Mountain, and moving down the east side of the great expanse of Mirkwood in plain view, and another to move within Mirkwood, straight down and around Dol Guldur and south, to emerge near Lothlorien. The time it would take the obvious army to circumnavigate the whole of Mirkwood would be five days; the time it would take the covert army to move straight through Mirkwood would be only three. Since Lothlorien expected an attack in three days, it was time for us to go.

Thranduil was in the army to go 'round, as that was what was to be expected. His army would move south in plain view of enemy scouts and spies, and, theoretically, Sauron's forces would assume they had time to overcome Lothlorien before he would arrive. He would ride my elk at the forefront of his army, making straight towards the edge of Mirkwood, into view of the Lonely Mountain, and then, joining with the men from Dale and the dwarves from the Lonely Mountain, he would plunge southward into the flatlands, toward the Plains of Dagorlad. I wondered if it would fill him with dread and remorse, or if it would bring him hope for a better outcome, this time.

I, an archer, was in the army under Tauriel's command that was to go straight through Mirkwood. It wasn't without objection that Thranduil sent me with Tauriel, but, after hours of arguing, he was forced to cede that, with my particular skillset, it made more sense for me to go with the archers. I knew he didn't want to let me out of his sight. We were to move covertly, spread out, and with stealth across nearly a mile's length of the interior of Mirkwood. The forerunners were archers, including myself, and we would shoot down crows and ravens any time we saw them, and I sent robins as our foreward to keep us apprised of what was ahead. They were wonderful little spies, filled with energy and enthusiasm.

Sildere would be with Thranduil. He had, in fact, been promoted within the military to Under-Captain, but I suspected all of this done by Thranduil to keep Sildere close and under his eye. I had no proof, of course, but knowing Thranduil, I suspected as much. Sildere had taken it all in stride, as was his way, deflecting all congratulations from me and instead expressing confidence in my value with the covert army and offering last-minute advice on navigating the hazards between the Greenwood and Dol Guldur.

"Don't die," I told Sildere before we parted ways, commanding him as I had once before at the fight for Smeagol.

He smiled at me.

"I dare not make any promises I'm not certain I can keep," he said, cruelly playing with my sense of foreboding. "Shall I command you to do the same?"

"I understand," I said, ceding to his rational sensibilities. "It is only wishful thinking that I can will you to be here when it's all over."

"Unfortunately," he said, "we cannot know exactly what we are up against until we see it directly. That's the uncertainty of war."

"I hate it," I said. "I hate war."

"Good," he said simply. "So do I."

We clasped hands, shook and parted, though I felt emboldened by his mere presence, as if I would fight better just knowing he was there, somewhere else, fighting too. I could not describe nor fully understand the bond I had with Sildere; it came from the battle we fought together, it couldn't be broken, and it was of irreplaceable value. Thranduil could not replace it, for I had never fought in a battle with Thranduil, despite our hunting trips, as much as he might envy it. Perhaps Thranduil could understand it, though, for I'm sure he had what's known as a "battle brotherhood" with those he had fought with in the past. Perhaps that fed into his jealousy, knowing the nature of the bond between Sildere and me, the enigmatic quality of it and the tight-knit familial bond it created that likely could only be severed by death. Perhaps he wanted that for himself, though he had me in so many other ways. Perhaps he was simply greedy when it came to me. Perhaps he was so determined that, by the end, he would eclipse Sildere and have that bond from me, too.

Thranduil and I had our own parting of ways, and by the necessity of considering all possibilities (it might be that one or both of us would not come out unscathed… or alive) it wasn't an easy parting.

We arranged to meet in the clearing, the one where we had said goodbye so many years ago, and the one where we had all fought the orcs who had come for Smeagol. I noted how it had changed; the grounds were burnt, the tree trunks were half black, half white and grey, and they were all barren with winter. Fresh snow had fallen in the clearing and no one had come this way. There were no impressions in the snow. Thranduil wore white and so did I, with some grey. My job was to blend into the wintery forest. His was to appear regal at the head of his army. I believed we both had accomplished our tasks.

I remembered the spring day when we had said our first goodbye here, the sway of the new grass and wildflowers, the fatigue on Thranduil's face from the weight of what we had become, yet he couldn't have imagined then what we had become by now, the depth of us, the _potential intensity_ of us. The Thranduil from then almost seemed naïve. The _me_ from then was most assuredly naïve, beyond naïve. Idiotic. I remembered how I wouldn't even say goodbye to him, how I only turned and left. I was so stubborn, so foolish, and so immature. He was right when he had said I wasn't ready for anything like this back then, but now…

I looked at Thranduil before me, the simple silver circlet crown upon his head and the white tunic, embroidered just so, and his face, the depth of his eyes, the familiarity of his presence, and he had become precious to me beyond anything I could have imagined _back then_.

"I love you," I said to him, willing all the depth of my true emotion to reveal itself in those three simple, inadequate words.

He touched my face, his countenance reflecting the depth I wanted him to hear.

"I love you," I said again, desperate for him to know more and more.

He took my face in his hands and looked down into my eyes.

"I want you to read me," he said, giving me permission to look into him, to use my innate skill. "I want you to know all of me."

I put my hands on the collar of his tunic, on his embroidery, feeling the brocade threads beneath my fingertips, feeling that everything about him, even every accessory to his person was precious in that moment. I grasped the fabric and looked up into his fair eyes, determined to use my inheritance from my grandmother more fully than I ever had before. He did not shrink, nor did any part of him evade, but he left himself open for me. He was mine because he was giving himself to me. I could not escape feeling gratitude for his offering.

In that moment, I used my skill with more focus and determination than I ever had. I used it for a single purpose fueled by my desire to _know_ him.

My grandmother had once tried to describe this to me. She had said that one cannot adequately describe the depths of a person, for not only is a person composed of a myriad of degrees of light and shadow, but even a seemingly infinite number of colors that would be impossible to define. These lights, darks, and colors come together to form something in the immediate present, but are always changing from moment to moment, like a dancing, shifting flame made of a billion hues. Just as so many colors are bound up in every individual, so are there endless opportunities for variation, for the unique quality of individuality wherein _this_ particular combination of light and dark, hue and color, came together at _this_ particular time to make _this_ is always unlike anything else. It is astoundingly beautiful, _always._ Sometimes it is tragic, but it is always beautiful. Sometimes it is more tragic due to its beauty. I didn't understand at all, then, what she was trying to tell me, and she had never tried again.

This was the first time I had ever beheld it, the color-time-flame of a person, and I was astounded by it; I was astounded by Thranduil and his depths. I was astounded by his beauty, by his tragedy, by his pains, his anguishes, his wants, his fears, his determination, his joys, and his shimmering pools of memory. There was darkness but there was radiant light, and the light outshone the darkness, and the darkness was subdued. They were both him. They _made_ him who he was. I found I loved him on a new level, one which I had not previously supposed could exist, _I loved him_ , and I said it from deep within me into the depths of him, and his colors responded, reacted, reflected, in an enormous, terrifying wave of emotion, and I found myself drawing back at once, overwhelmed by the intensity of sensation from the experience, unable to continue, back, back, into myself, into the outside, the world, the cold, the falling snow, my hands upon his embroidery, his face before me, and my breath in ragged pale puffs into the frigid air.

He breathed, shaky, his hands still upon my face. I felt cold wetness evaporating on my cheeks; I had wept without knowing it. A tear fell from his jawline upon my hand. So had he.

I pushed my hand across his tears, drying them, drying his face. It was a mostly symbolic gesture. My hand wasn't very good at drying his tears. He pulled me into his arms and kissed me.

I gave myself over to the kiss, losing myself into it, and finding him in the process. His colors echoed, now that I had seen them, in everything he did.

"I must see you again," he said against the corner of my mouth, his words desperate, the most desperate I had heard him in this time of war. "Please, please… please be careful."

I kissed him, I kissed him again, and then I sighed out something of laugh, if a laugh can be sad, and replied, "You're the one with a target upon you, Thranduil, for who better to kill to destroy the resolve of the woodland elves than their king?"

I felt a tear fall back, across my temple, into my hairline, a cold trail in the winter air, and I shut my eyes tightly against my fears.

"Be careful," I whispered against his cheek. "Oh, _stars_ , please… Thranduil… _please._ "

His embrace echoed my fear, he felt it too, we both felt it, together, acutely. We suffered in our fear of loss.

Slowly, we parted. It was agonizing to do so. The warmth between us felt like it was all we had left, and we had to give it over to the grasping hands of winter as cold air filled the space between us. There was a certain mourning about it, a mourning in our actions as we turned to leave the meadow, even as burnt out and monochrome as it was, and walked the path back to where our respective armies waited. We had been parted by circumstance, and we mourned the loss of each other, and hoped it would not be forever.

The last thing I remember before I followed Tauriel onto the south road was Thranduil's eyes. He watched me go as he sat upon my elk, reins in one hand, the other lifted to command his army towards the east road. I would have no horse; we were to move clandestinely through the forest, soundless if possible. I had looked over my shoulder to see him before I went, and our eyes met. I saw determination in his gaze, but I also saw longing. I longed for him, too. I was forced to break eye contact first.

As I began walking south towards Dol Guldur, I knew there was only one way back to Thranduil; through Sauron. In that particular moment, I was ready to tear Sauron to shreds.

-ooOOoo—

"What have you found?" I whispered to my robin as it perched upon my finger.

 _"Pehp, pep!"_ the winter robin chirped, and I listened, with Tauriel close beside me.

"Ravens, coming this way from the south," I said.

Tauriel glanced around to either side, as elves, spaced across the forest in scattered lines, waited for her signal. She signaled and we parted, moving silently, swiftly, neatly through the forest, out of the ravens' reach.

"Stay with me," I said to my robin, putting it on my shoulder and taking off towards the west. It fluttered up and flew beside me, as swift as my stride, sometimes diving upwards through the tops of the trees, and sometimes weaving around the tree trunks around us.

We all invaded Mirkwood, the south, the darkness around Dol Guldur, silently, like the spreading shadow of evening. We were the best archers the Woodland Realm had to offer, and we were expert in both traversing these woods and destroying anything that didn't belong here. Despite our expertise, however, we gave Dol Guldur a wide berth. That was a battle for another day. We made as little disturbance as we could on the sea of Mirkwood, and did the best we could to pass through unnoticed. The robins helped tremendously. If there were orcs or spiders ahead, due to our army being so spread out, we could make it appear as if only a few elves happened to be there to remove the enemies from their forest. It wasn't anything we hadn't already been doing regularly for hundreds of years. There would be little to report if an errant raven happened to see a few of us here or there. Perhaps we were a bit further south than usual, but it wasn't unheard of. I just hoped if there were more than a few errant ravens that escaped our arrows, that they didn't put the pieces together fast enough to discover our true purpose.

Two times we stopped at night, climbing into the trees to rest until dim light would return in the morning. I usually stuck with Tauriel.

On the second night, while we were in the trees, the snow had stopped and the sky cleared, revealing the brilliant winter stars. They made me think of Thranduil and I wondered how his army was getting on. I gestured to my robin.

"Go find the king and find out how he is doing," I told it. It fluttered its wings, its right wing fluttering lightly against my face, and then took off, breaking out of the treetops and into the sky.

"I'm sure His Majesty is fine," said Tauriel, resting against a nearby branch and smiling slightly in the blue-grey dark of night. I felt embarrassed she'd overheard for some reason. "He can take care of himself in a war."

"I know," I said, looking down, but feeling both shy and obstinate. "I figured it would be good to know how far they've come."

"Oh, is that all you wanted to know?" she asked, clearly not believing me. "How far the army has come? We already know how far they will be. It's been long planned out to the mile how far they'll go each day."

I cleared my throat and shifted against my branch while Tauriel waited for me to clarify my position.

"Fine, I just wanted to know how the king is," I muttered, admitting it.

Tauriel laughed.

"There's no shame in having concern for His Majesty," said Tauriel, watching me. "But you should trust him."

"I do," I said.

"Not enough, it seems," she said.

"Oh," I said. She'd hit on something. I pushed back, though. "But what if they're ambushed?"

"By what?" she asked.

"I don't know," I said, casting about for ideas, "Three Nazgul and a huge army of wargs."

"Easy," she said. "They're on the west side of the forest. If they get overwhelmed, they can retreat into the forest. There is nothing, absolutely _nothing_ , that can best the woodland elves once they're inside the forest."

I felt a bit better after realizing they would be skirting the forest, and it was there, ready to receive them if necessary.

"If we do our job extra well," said Tauriel, "they won't even _see_ battle."

I let out a puff of air, feeling anxious about trying to do our job extra well. There were just so many _unknowns._

"I wish Legolas was with us," I said, withdrawing further into my thick, winter cloak.

"So do I," she said, glancing aside, out, and towards the south. "But his path led him away from the Greenwood. I am certain he fights against Sauron elsewhere, in his own way."

I looked out into the forest and saw nothing, heard nothing. There was silence and not a single fire was lit. It was as if no one was there. Tomorrow we would arrive at the south edge of Mirkwood, and then we would decide what we could do. Would we be able to ambush them? What would we find? How large would Sauron's northern front be? Sleep was hard to come by, but it came eventually.

I woke to the call of a raven which plunged deep within my subconscious, slumbering mind and then yanked me out of sleep with immense, panicked force. I grappled with my bow and nocked it with an arrow and sprang to my feet, scanning the skies. There. _There, in the south._ I aimed and released, watching the arrow fly, projecting in a narrow arc further and further until it hit, and I watched the raven fall, tumbling over itself, into the treetops below it. My breath was short from the exertion of stress.

"Well done," said Tauriel, who had woken just after me and hadn't had time to reach for her own arrow.

We spent some time searching for spies, and upon not finding any more, we moved on, cautiously and continually towards the south.

"Tauriel," I said as we walked, "how did you come to be captain of the king's guard? It doesn't seem like something the average silvan elf maiden would aspire to."

"Ah," she said, "if I had a bottle of silvan wine for every time I'd been asked that question, I'd be set for life."

I laughed.

"I suppose it's my father's influence," she said. "He noticed I had an affinity for hunting, and he let me do it, he encouraged me to do it. The rest is hard work and drive, I suppose. And efficiency. And skill."

We walked in silence for a moment and then she went on.

"To be honest, though," she said, "I have the title of Captain of the Guard but Prince Legolas and I did it together. We balanced each other quite well in managing the military. His strengths and mine are not the same, and so together we were better than only one person could be. For hundreds of years that is what we have done… until he left."

"Do you miss him, then?" I asked.

She didn't answer for at least half a minute.

"Yes," she said, but that was all she said.

"Do you worry that without him your leadership is unbalanced?" I asked.

She glanced at me and I realized I was doing it again, the thing that drove Thranduil crazy.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly, and then gave a nervous laugh. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"Yes, I do," she said, answering my question. "That was very perceptive of you, if disarming."

"Again, I apologize," I said, not wanting to get into _how_ I tend to know how to ask disarming questions.

"I miss his counsel, I miss being able to discuss the good and bad of choices we need to make, I miss the sounding board he gave me," she said. "He is full of good ideas. And on top of all that, he is full of … I don't know how to put it… _sunshine."_

"He is!" I said, feeling excited to share Tauriel's interpretation of the prince. "I know exactly what you are saying!"

We laughed, knowing between us that Legolas was an adorable ray of sunshine and no one could dispute it with _two_ witnesses.

Behind me I heard the flapping of wings and automatically both Tauriel and I nocked our bows and turned to aim at whatever it was.

"Wait!" I cried, seeing my robin, fatigued, flapping towards us. It landed on my shoulder and began chirping in my ear. I felt as if the blood drained from my face. "Oh, no…"

"What is it?" asked Tauriel.

"It is what we did not expect," I said. "Thranduil has been attacked by a vast army of Easterlings!"

 _"By the heavens!"_ oathed Tauriel, furious. "How did Sauron manage such a thing? Those foolish Easterlings! Do they think he will spare them once they've outlived their usefulness?"

"Thranduil and the dwarves and Dalemen have retreated towards the forest, but the Easterlings follow," I said, petting my tired robin on the head with a finger. It must have flown all night and morning. "The robin says the Easterlings fight boldly, as if confident in victory, despite the forest."

Just then the sound of many wings came from the northwest and overtook us. Birds, not just robins, but all the birds of the forest seemed to be fleeing south, piercing through and around the trees in haste, warning all to follow with their cries. They were _panicking._ I managed to catch a winter robin on my hand before it could pass us by.

"What is it?" I asked the robin. "What is wrong?"

Deer emerged then, fleeing in the same direction, squirrels, foxes, and all the quickest animals. It filled one with dread towards the unseen threat. The robin chirped and answer quickly and flew off in fear.

"Dol Guldur is attacking!" I translated, scarcely believing it myself.

"Oh, no," said Tauriel under her breath, and she turned to look back and forth, across the very, _very_ thinly spaced line of elves which were spread out across the Mirkwood. It was an excellent formation for stealth, but it was the _worst_ formation for being attacked.

"They'll destroy us!" I said, perhaps panicking in the same way as the birds that had already passed us by. It was, by now, slower animals, badgers, hedgehogs, and the like that were fleeing the coming storm. "How did they know?"

"Assemble!" commanded Tauriel to the elves within earshot on either side of us, and her command flew down the line for as far and as quickly as the line went, nearly across the width of Mirkwood, most likely. The elves nearest us came quickly and we convened with weapons drawn to face whatever was coming for us from the north.

It was already an overcast day, dark for winter, but then a greater darkness, a shadow, swept across us and with it a creeping cold that seeped with immediacy straight through one's bones. Then, when the coldness clasped the heart of each of us, we were pierced with dread that came from outside, like an idea planted without its own genesis.

"Nazgul," hissed Tauriel, whose ability to speak amid such dread defined the depths of her courage.

We looked up in response through the barren treetops, and it passed above on its wretched mount, like a great, hideous bird and a claiming shadow. It passed, perhaps moving on to spy other forces, and the deeper shadow and the cold and the dread passed with it, yet a lingering residue of each was left behind. The woodland elves recovered and resumed assembling, our numbers growing as Tauriel tried to order the elves as best she could before the next threat could come.

We heard them long before they got here; they were orcs, and therefore they were extremely noisy, and there were a lot of them. We knew that they would get here before all of us managed to form a cohesive front; we also knew that even if we'd had the chance to assemble properly, there would still be a lot more of them than there were of us.

Our saving grace was that we were in the forest, and this was where we fought best. We had an advantage over the orcs, who fought poorly amidst the trees and branches and were best suited for the open battlefield. As we waited for them to arrive, I used that knowledge to attempt to calm my nerves.

We didn't have long to wait, for ahead of the orcs, whom we could hear clearly, came Shelob's spawn; spiders whose creep was quieter, yet faster than the orcs they outpaced. They seemed to know we were here as they came into view, and attacked immediately, and, despite their ferocity, we disposed of them with efficiency due to years upon years of practice. The spiders had little chance against us, but they did accomplish one task: they depleted our arrows until we were forced to pause to recover them from the bodies of the dead.

"Arrows!" cried Tauriel to everyone, running towards the front of dead spiders, "Get as many as you can before they get here!"

A great disadvantage that we suffered was that we were the best archers in the army. The best hand-to-hand fighters were with Thranduil, and bearing down upon us was an army of orcs, who excelled in hand-to-hand combat through brute force. As we frantically grabbed for arrows from the dead spiders, the first orcs came through the trees in the north.

"The best we will be able to do is slow them down," said Tauriel within my earshot as she yanked an arrow out of a spider's corpse. She pointed with the blood-covered arrow towards the treetops. "Elves! To the trees!"

I followed her into the formation we had trained for already; using the trees as higher ground and as guerilla warfare, to stay out of the hands of stronger enemies and to cripple them with lethal speed.

The first wave of orcs didn't have a chance. They fell as quickly as they came, littering the forest floor with their bodies and crude weapons.

"Arrows!" commanded Tauriel, and we rushed down, taking as many arrows as we could before the next wave could arrive. They came sooner than we'd expected, and we were forced to leave a number of arrows behind.

"Get ready!" called Tauriel. I followed her up into a tree and nocked an arrow, watching the distorted, pale faces of orcs come into view through the trees. As soon as it was possible, I fired and I watched an orc fall dead into the orcs behind it, causing them to stumble. The reaction of the orcs was outrage, and they charged, crude weapons brandished and war-screams tearing the air.

Tauriel and I, and the rest of the elves, moved evasively through the treetops, firing upon the orcs and enraging them more and more. There were enough of them that they felt no fear of us, yet, for we were like bees attacking a bear; there wasn't much we could do to threaten them at large, but we could be a persistent annoyance that they seemed unable to stop. We picked away at them, lessening their numbers, but since their numbers seemed countless, we could not halt them. We were the army in retreat, and they pushed us backward, flanking us, south and west, in the direction they wanted us to go. Our greatest crisis was our dwindling arrows; due to our retreat it wasn't possible to retrieve the ones we used.

We were faster than them, and we worked to slow them, but we were forced to reduce the number we slew as we went on. Occasionally one or another of us was able to swoop in and retrieve a spent arrow, but it was rare. In time we were relegated to merely keeping ahead of them as they pushed us southwest through the Mirkwood.

Eventually we began to hear the sounds of battle in front of us as we bore south. I looked at Tauriel, whose countenance fell at the noise, and she gave me a grim glance.

"I afraid I know what has happened," she said.

"What?" I asked.

"We've been surrounded," she said, gazing southwest, seeming to look for signs of the battle we could hear. Her words made me feel cold.

"But who is ahead?" I asked.

"If I'm correct," she said, "that's the back of Thranduil's army, fighting the Easterlings."

I caught my breath in a gasp.

"They've pushed us together and surrounded us here with all of their force. They knew we were coming. They knew our plans!" Her voice became angrier as she went on. "They were never going to attack Lothlorien out in the open, they just wanted to spread us out, away from our home, so they could destroy us!"

She let out a sharp, furious cry and tore her longknife from her sheath.

"Get ready," she said to me, seeming at work on bolstering her own courage, "this is going to be a long battle."

Tauriel dropped down to the forest floor and signaled to the elves under her command. We were going to charge the orcs in the hopes of stopping them from breaking through and attacking Thranduil's forces from behind. I was terrified, but I followed her. Tauriel took me by the arm and fixed me with her gaze.

"Eren," she said to me, "run to the king's army. Tell them what is coming. We need more arrows."

I nodded anxiously and bolted away, into the trees, away from the encroaching lines of orcs and the charging cry of Tauriel and her army, and toward the distant din of a different fight. For a brief moment, in between the two battles, I was alone in the forest, suspended in nothing, a simple day, a normal day in the woods, and then I was back; the sound of metal colliding and the cries of men, dwarves, and elves filling my ears. I could see the struggle ahead through the trees, and I saw my elk. It had found me, and had left the battle, perhaps finding the fight more than it wished to deal with on this day, and it intercepted me, pushing its muzzle into the palm of my hand. Its presence left me cold, however, for I feared the fate of its rider.

"Where is the king?" I asked my elk, though I expected no answer. It nuzzled my shoulder, and I stared ahead at the battle through the trees. I drew my longknife and ran toward the fray, forgetting the elk, forsaking it for my king.

As I passed through the trees, I was plunged into the middle of battling chaos. Here were more of Thranduil's forces and less of the Easterlings due to it being the backside of the battle and I was able to search more freely than if I had been in the forefront. The woodland elves used the trees, fighting in more dimensions than only two due to the increased leverage of the treetops, but the dwarves and men were more at a disadvantage in this environment. I dodged an Easterling and scrambled up a tree, hoping to avoid combat and find Thranduil or someone in charge as swiftly as possible to relay the knowledge of another army coming from behind. As I leapt lightly from one tree to the next, I suddenly heard and felt a deep, resounding, thunderous crash and looked to see what it could be. Over the tops of the trees I could see the head of a great, grey beast cresting the treeline. With tusks and armor its forehead pushed against a tree, knocking it down, and sending it crashing to the ground. I did not know what it was, but it terrified me. It must have been with the Easterlings. I went the other way.

"Where is your king?" I asked an elf when we landed in the same tree. "I have information he must know right away."

The elf looked toward the direction of the great beast, and I feared that was where I'd have to go, but then he turned in the other direction and called.

"Captain Sildere!" called the elf, and Sildere, who was on the ground finishing off an Easterling, looked up.

I had never been so happy to see him before.

"Sildere!" I cried, and I dropped from the tree and ran to him. He met me in the middle, clasping my arms in his hands, clearly happy yet anxious to see me. This wasn't where I was supposed to be, and my presence meant our plans had gone terribly wrong.

"Eren," he said, looking down into my face. "Why are you here? What has happened?"

"We've been ambushed," I told him. "Dol Guldur has attacked us, and we are behind you, fighting off an army of orcs on the other side."

His grip tightened momentarily on my arms in reaction to my news, and I watched his face as he tried to process this dire information. He let out a short, frustrated exhale and released me, then glanced around, taking in who and what he had available at the moment.

"We need arrows," I added. "Whatever you can spare."

He took off his quiver at once and handed it to me, which I strapped on my back with gratitude.

"Orcs in the rearguard!" cried Sildere to the soldiers within earshot, and he gestured for them to assemble in preparation for an assault from behind. "Bring all spare arrows for the archers!"

Soon I was laden with a great number of full quivers and joined by three other elves carrying the same. We ran into the woods towards the other front to find Tauriel's troops, which had fallen back under the onslaught of orcs. The spare distance between the two battles had decreased precariously, and it wouldn't be long before the inevitable meeting came to pass. We handed out quivers, and as we did, the front elves charging the orcs dissipated, making for the trees, and nocking their bows. At first, the orcs weren't sure what had happened, since they were all at once unchallenged.

"Fire!" cried Tauriel, and we bore down upon them with the might of our replenished arrows.

It was the first time since the beginning of our battle that we saw fear in the eyes of the orcs.

The entire front line of orcs fell under our onslaught. Despite a temporary bruising of their resolve, the problem was there was a second, third, fourth, and perhaps even a _tenth_ line behind them. They regrouped and charged, and we were relegated to picking away at them from the trees while they forged forward through brute force. It was our hope to weaken them as much as we could before they reached the beleaguered army on the other side.

The land between dwindled and dwindled despite our best efforts, and as we reached the second battle, I saw Sildere there with sword in hand, prepared with a small army to repel the orcs. The orcs, enlivened by having reached their goal, having crushed both armies between themselves and the Easterlings, let out a cry of victory and rushed into the waiting elves, who were already fatigued from fighting all day.

Still, it was true that woodland elves are, on an individual basis, due to age and depth of training and strength, far better warriors than crude orcs, who were not only shorter lived, but received less training and generally lacked speed and agility. An army of half as many elves can withstand an army of twice as many orcs. The problem here was that Sildere's force was only a quarter of the size of the orcs, and it was not only elves, but men and dwarves in the mix.

Tauriel saw this and dropped from the trees to aid him, and the rest of us followed suit.

Finding my longknife insufficient, I grabbed an axe from a fallen dwarf and ran to Sildere's side as he fought off two orcs at once. I made short work of the second orc with my axe, and Sildere glanced at me, giving my axe a once-over.

"Resourceful in battle as usual," he said to me, eyeing another orc that prepared to charge us while brandishing his sword. I dropped the axe and took out my bow, aiming an arrow at the orc. It paused, which was its death. Sheathing my bow, I picked up the axe again.

"Go find the king," said Sildere. "Tell him what we are facing."

"I won't leave you," I said.

Sildere glanced at me.

"He needs to know," he said.

"Then send someone else," I said. "I will not leave you."

He stared at me with a mixture of frustration and gratitude, then turned to tell another elf to act as courier to the king. The truth was, I was in the middle of a battle. I didn't need the distraction of Thranduil in the middle of it. It didn't seem to fit. Sildere did. With Sildere, I felt like a warrior. I knew Thranduil could handle himself in war, perhaps better than anyone else in his army, but I didn't want the visual reminder that he was fighting in front of me while I was trying to do the same.

We fought the onslaught of orcs with all of our strength. For hours it stretched on, and yet, despite all of our efforts, we lost ground inch by inch. There were simply too many of them. Due to the fact that we never received reinforcements to our numbers, it was safe to assume that the battle raged on in front with the Easterlings, as well. Every once in a while, a tree fell from the great beast towards the southwest and it shook the ground and we knew it was still living and killing our forest and that Thranduil's army had not yet managed to drive them back. We were outnumbered and outflanked.

As the sun signaled late afternoon and the winter sky began to haze towards orange in the west, the fighting suddenly stopped as a shadow passed overhead and chilled us with dread. The orange in the west deepened into blood red in the shadow's cast and I found myself shivering with fatigue, fear, and cold.

"The Nazgul is back," I whispered, though I took comfort in the sensation of Sildere's warm arm against mine as we stood together and looked up.

The Nazgul's beast gave a chilling cry: it was a primal sound, like something from before the before, something from First Earth. I knew the Nazgul was there to see the progress of his forces, and I did not doubt he was pleased. As I looked behind me, I could see that we were backed up against Thranduil's army, and beyond him and his meager forces I could see the Easterlings' troops, which were still so very many. Too many. In front of us were still more orcs than we could manage. There were not enough of us. We were trapped. Were we doomed?

Our position must bring the Nazgul such _pleasure,_ I thought, furious and simmering at the realization.

-ooOOoo-

 _ **P.S. I love Sildere. And Tauriel (which character I took over and made her definitely not fall in love with a dwarf, ever, ever, ever.) And the kooky Nazgul and his pterodactyl.**_


	20. Entry Twenty: Radagast the Brown

_**A/N: Sorry it took me so long to update! So here's what happened: I watched "The Last Jedi" and HAD to write a Kylo Ren/Ben Solo & Rey story, so I did that... and now I'm back. Sorry for leaving on a cliffhanger! I had most of this chapter already written a month ago, but, again, the call to Reylo is strong. ANYWAY, if you're interested, the Reylo story is called "Claire de Lune" and it is finished. **_

_**Now to finish this one! There are not that many chapters left! Oh my!**_

-ooOOoo—

 _To Mr. T. Brown_

 _Wiltshire, The Green Wood, Rhovanion_

 _Dear Cousin,_

 _I am coming to Wiltshire, just me, for academic reasons. I've nearly finished the translation of the elvish text and wish to investigate some things. May I see you?_

 _Regards,_

 _Mr. B. Surrey_

 _Academiae Hall, Old Minas Tirith, Gondor_

-ooOOoo—

Entry Twenty:

It is sometimes said that things are darkest before the dawn. In this case, our position seemed the darkest it had ever been, yet sunset was upon us. Would it become darker yet? How long could we fight before we were overcome? We were elves, and we were superior warriors, but even we had limits to our strength. Even though I knew the presence of the Nazgul overhead was deepening our fears simply by being there, I couldn't help but feel afraid and discouraged anyway.

I looked away from the Nazgul to Sildere, who met my gaze with his own. I could see in his eyes that he would fight to the end, but he was losing hope. Not far behind Sildere was Tauriel, who appeared livid as she gazed up at the Nazgul's shadow. I turned to look for Thranduil. If this was to be our end, I didn't want it to end without seeing him again. I searched the ranks of elves, dwarves, and men, and there, at the forefront near the Easterlings, was the blooming white of Thranduil, defying the darkness of the Nazgul. His countenance was a flaming fire; though he had cast his eyes up towards the fell-beast above just as everyone had, friend or foe, he wasn't afraid. He was determined. Perhaps he had seen worse.

The Nazgul circled slowly above, allowing the chill of his shadow to penetrate us and settle. It seemed the troops which surrounded us were waiting for his command. I suppose the choices were to demand our surrender or to completely destroy us. I had a cold feeling the Nazgul's signal would be for the latter.

Then, escaping anyone's notice, a winter robin fluttered swiftly through the ranks to land on my shoulder. It was _my_ robin, and I was as surprised to see it as anyone could be. Why had it come? It looked so _tired!_ How brave it was to fly into the shadow of the Nazgul, instead of away from him, as it should. At least my robin had the chance to escape, unlike me, and I didn't know why it hadn't taken that chance and fled.

It chirped into my ear, and hope suffused me at once.

"You've brought your friends?" I asked the robin, and Sildere glanced at me.

"What?" he asked, bewildered.

A great call echoed at once through the sky and the Nazgul's attention was drawn to the west with a scream of dismay and betrayal. I knew that sound but I could scarcely believe it until I saw a set of three great eagles glide into view and then one dove at the Nazgul, haranguing him and disrupting his shadow. The Nazgul was infuriated, but I saw fear in his posture and his bearing, and as another eagle dove at him, he drove the fell-beast upon which he flew away, turning aloft, abandoning his charge and shifting his attention towards the south.

The shadow passed and the bloody sunset returned to golden orange as the Nazgul's presence faded southward, towards Mordor. The orc and Easterling armies which surrounded us milled for a moment, as if unsure what to do in the absence of command. The eagles circled once, then twice, and then all at once they dove down, down, like great spears, towards the grey Easterling beast which threatened the trees.

The threat of the eagles was enough to spur our enemies back into action and they bore down, once again, upon us, yet hope had been renewed in our hearts and we fought with restored fervor for our lives. Yet, we were greatly outnumbered still.

But we would not be outnumbered for long, for, towards the northeast, we heard a shrill bird-call, though it was not of any bird which I had heard before. As I turned to see, I recognized the slight, brown, and raggedy form of the wizard Radagast grasping the reigns of a sled pulled by great hares and surrounded by the greatest army of fauna of every kind that I could have imagined. It seemed every creature of the Greenwood had gathered under Radagast's care, and at the head were the fiercest; brown bears and mountain lions, and taloned hawks and horned woodland elk. I could not believe it, and it seemed neither could the armies which assailed us, for they wist not what to do.

 _All living races came to battle that day, even the birds and the beasts._

The written record from the War of the Last Alliance, the end of the Second Age, came into my mind, and I knew at once that we must now be fighting the great war that would mark the end of the Third.

Radagast pointed his staff towards our warfare and let out again his peculiar bird-call, and the beasts and birds attacked, swarming down the hill at his command towards the orcs and the Easterlings.

Now, _now_ , with the addition of the fauna of the forest, and the wizard which watched over all, and the eagles, and us woodland elves, the invaders which hoped to annihilate us would face the entirety of the Greenwood and _they would not take our place in this land._

With the addition of all the animals and the renewed hope within us, it was scarcely dusk before we had driven the Easterlings out of the Greenwood and scattered the orcs to the four winds. The resounding fall of the great Easterling beast was the first pall of the end for our enemies, caused by the fierce attack of the eagles, who, after taking down the beast they turned their attention toward terrifying the invaders, whose resolve weakened every minute beneath the attacks of beasts of every kind.

There is something magical about nature when it focuses its might, for it happens so rarely that when it does, and if it is against you, it is truly terrifying. If it is fighting with you, it is exhilarating.

Perhaps one of the greatest things to come from this battle was the feeling that we were not alone.

Both armies, the orcs and the Easterlings, were reduced to almost nothing in a matter of an hour. What was left and what could escape fled, but many of the animals were faster, and they, once provoked, possessed less mercy than we elves. The forces from Dol Guldur were vanquished, and the Easterlings would not try again, at least, not for a very long time.

We found ourselves celebratory, if exhausted, and the still-acute threat of extinction barely averted kept the reality of the casualties we had suffered from sinking in just yet.

I ran to where Radagast was, astride his sled upon the hill, because I simply _had_ to speak to this wizard. He was strange and magical, and altogether different from Gandalf.

As I approached, my robin fluttered up beside me to settle onto my shoulder.

"Radagast the Brown," I said, by way of greeting.

He was trying to dissuade a hedgehog from crawling up his robe and seemed distracted. He looked up and eyed me, seeming a bit startled by the arrival of an elf.

"Oh, hello," he said, seeming not sure what to call me.

"I'm Lady Eren of Rivendell," I said.

He glanced at the robin on my shoulder, then back at me.

"Hello, Lady Eren," he said awkwardly, which was not what I expected from someone who'd just saved us from total annihilation.

Clearly, he wasn't much for conversation. With people, anyway.

"Thank you for coming to our aid," I said, perhaps gushing. "I don't think we would have made it without you."

Radagast looked as if he didn't know how to respond, and he scratched behind his ear and pushed off the hedgehog again, who had resumed crawling up the side of his cloak.

"How did you know to come?" I asked. "How did you manage it?"

He glanced at my robin again.

"Is that yours?" he asked.

"I suppose," I said, petting my robin on the head. "I wouldn't say this robin is _mine_ , but it is my friend."

He nodded to the robin, and it chirped at him.

"I think he's the one you want to thank," said Radagast.

I glanced at my robin.

"Without him, we wouldn't have known where to come nor what to do," he said.

Just then I noticed my elk had wandered up the hill to join us, and I was so happy to see it I threw my arms around its neck and took a big sniff into its fur.

I noticed Radagast was eyeing me again.

"Did you say you're from Rivendell?" inquired Radagast.

"Yes," I replied, petting my elk.

Radagast looked dubious over my reply.

"Huh," he articulated, and then, after a moment: "Who's your kin?"

"My father is Lord Elrond," I said.

"Oh," said Radagast, " _Oh_."

"Oh?" I asked.

"You're Lady Galadriel's granddaughter," he said. "The one who climbed the trees. Yes. It all makes sense, now."

"Does it?" I inquired.

"Yes," he said, appeased, plucking the hedgehog from his robes and holding it in one hand.

He turned his attention to the hedgehog, and it appeared his conversation with me was over.

"Yes, well," I said, turning to my elk. "Time to go, I suppose."

Radagast was a very strange wizard.

I climbed onto my elk and allowed it to lead me where it would, which was down the hill and into the remnants of the armies and towards Thranduil. I could finally bear to see him again, now that the risk of his death was no longer in front of me. The elves parted around me as I rode, and at my height I could see Thranduil before we could speak, circled with his allies, Captain Tauriel, Sildere, King Brand of Dale, son of Bard the Bowman, and Dain Ironfoot, the dwarven King from under the mountain, embroiled in what happens next. As I approached, they all noticed me and their circle broke, falling apart, waiting for whatever it was I had brought to say. I suppose it was the elk. It lent one a certain superiority.

My attention solely sought the white perfection of Thranduil, however. As I drew closer I could see the flaws which marred him; the dust and the blood and the travail that I hadn't seen from far away. Even though it seemed as if I'd been fighting for longer than was possible, the reality was he'd been fighting longer than me. Beneath his commanding presence, I saw the fatigue, and the relief. I held out my hand to him and he took it.

"The southern edge of the forest is yonder, past that ridge," said Thranduil, pointing with his other hand and addressing us all. "We need to see if we can discern what has become of Lothlorien from there."

He looked up at me and I shifted my grip on his hand, giving him the leverage he needed to mount the elk behind me. The others went, transferring information through the ranks, sending scouts, but after the lengths we just went through in our fight, no one was moving very quickly. As for me, I was embroiled in the tactile pleasure of having Thranduil safe behind me where I could feel him. He touched my waist as we made for the edge of the forest and sunset deepened into dusk.

The trees of the forest ended abruptly; there wasn't a thinning into the plains that would eventually become Dagorlad, the trees simply ended. We found ourselves upon a grassy rise which served as an overlook of all the plains in the distance.

I saw the firelights immediately, and among the fire and fury I could see a brilliant white light; a thrill of magic, a shining, a shimmering which rained coarse, deadly white blows through the dark soldiers of Mordor. There, in the plains beyond of the forest of Lothlorien, was the battle of Lorien where Galadriel's ring of power fought with another of Sauron's armies. It was the battle we had hoped to supersede with the element of surprise, and we had found ourselves to be the ones superseded instead. Yet, the battle we watched looked to be nearly finished, and we were relieved to find it was Lorien who pursued the remnants of enemies who fled, and Lothlorien who was to be the victor. I felt a chill at the thought of having to watch from this distance if it had gone the other way, if I had to watch Lothlorien defeated at the hands of orcs and Nazgul.

"They did it," I said.

"It appears so," replied Thranduil.

"Without us," I remarked.

Thranduil was silent for a moment.

"Sauron's armies were split," he said. "It appears the army that marched on Lothlorien was smaller than he intended."

I gazed at the remnants as they fell or fled.

"The Easterlings and the orcs of Dol Guldur were likely meant to bolster them once they'd destroyed us," said Thranduil.

"It appears Sauron underestimated the Woodland Realm," I said, and I leaned back on Thranduil, who received me with warmth.

We watched in silence, finding haste unnecessary for the moment. We would join Lothlorien once dawn broke, but for now we could rest.

Eventually, the distant war meandered to an end and the campfires of Lothlorien maintained the plains with a subdued serenity. Thranduil and I had some time ago dismounted my elk, and we leaned on the slope of the rise and gazed over the view, waiting for dawn. Some scattered others from the war had come to watch as well, those who didn't camp or fall asleep where they sat, human, elf or dwarf, even a few hares, a bear, and some birds came to join us, scattered across the breadth of the rise. Most slept, exhausted from the travails of the day.

In time Thranduil looked over at me thoughtfully.

"You should sleep," he said.

"I don't think I can," I said.

It had been a very alarming few days.

He reached over and brushed a lock of my hair away from my face.

I couldn't help but smile at him, I was so relieved he was still alive, and so was I.

"I insist you sleep," he said.

"But how shall I do so?" I inquired.

Taking me by the wrist, he pulled me into his arms and leaned back against the rise.

"Fine," he said quietly. "Watch if you must, but if you feel it come upon you, I expect you to sleep."

I felt quite comfortable at that moment, and he accomplished his aim. I do not know how long it was before I fell asleep, for the next thing I knew, I was waking up with the glow of sunrise in my eyes, the crush of soft grass beneath me, and the warmth of Thranduil's cloak and scent upon me. The sky was wildly blue.

I sat up at once, wondering where he had gone. I could see only more grass, and several people as well as animals stirring and milling about. It seemed as if everyone was going back into the forest to gather. I stood.

Turning to look out over the plains, I could see smoke rising from dead fires and the troops of Lothlorien.

"Are you ready to go meet with Galadriel and Celeborn?" I heard Thranduil say from behind me.

He was at the edge of the forest with my elk. Feeling at once self-conscious, I immediately worked at picking blades of grass out of my hair, and he smiled.

"Let us go down," he said, holding out a hand for his cloak.

"Did you sleep at all?" I asked, shaking out his cloak and handing it over. It all felt strangely domestic.

"I slept enough," he replied, throwing his cloak over his shoulders and pulling me by the hand to climb onto my elk.

Once we were both on the elk, he signaled to some others who joined us: King Brand of Dale, Dain the Dwarf, and Radagast the Brown. Brand rode a horse, Dain a strange breed of hog, and Radagast his hare-sled. We must have made a very eclectic scene as we made our diverse haste towards the camp of my grandparents.

It was a welcome sight to see, in the distance, the bright white form of my grandmother waiting for my arrival. The plains seemed too vast, but at last we reached her, and my grandfather nearby, and I lighted from the elk's back and ran into her arms.

"Lady Galadriel, Lord Celeborn," greeted Thranduil, who dismounted as well.

"Thanduil, King of the Greenwood," said Celeborn, clasping Thranduil's hand with warmth, and then he cast his eyes over the others.

"This is the King under the Mountain, Dain, cousin of Thorin, and the King Brand of Dale, son of Bard the Bowman, who defeated Smaug," said Thranduil. "Both of their armies fought with us in the Greenwood yesterday."

"Greetings to you both," said Celeborn cordially.

"We live in interesting times," said Dain gruffly.

"It is an honor, Lord and Lady of Lothlorien," said Brand, bowing to them.

"Radagast the Brown," said Galadriel, by way of greeting and also by way of discernment.

Radagast appeared immediately discomfited by her attention.

"Lady Galadriel," he said.

"You're not usually the type to fight in a battle," she said.

Radagast cleared his throat.

"Grandmother," I said, "Radagast saved us at the last."

"Did he?" asked Galadriel, appearing interested.

"Yes," said I, "We thought we were done for."

"It wasn't me," said Radagast, protesting.

"Wasn't it?" inquired Galadriel.

"The animals of the forest do what they choose," said Radagast.

"What did they choose, then?" asked Galadriel.

"They chose to help them," said the wizard, shrugging. "I merely showed them which way to go."

"Radagast!" I objected. "Such humility!"

"It's true!" said Radagast, defensively. "The beasts of the forest knew if Sauron conquered Rhovanion, they'd lose the forest once and for all, and believe me, they've been _very_ unhappy with how things have been going over these past hundred years. Dol Guldur and Shelob's spawn were bad enough, but to lose the Woodland Elves would mean to lose the best protectors this forest has. They knew that, and they wouldn't stand for it."

I felt very endeared to the beasts of the forest at that moment.

"Thanks to the combined efforts of everyone, including several of the great eagles," said Thranduil, "the Easterlings have abandoned their designs and the army from Dol Guldur has been destroyed."

Galadriel cast her eyes towards Dol Guldur and a calculating look passed through her features. She turned to gaze at Celeborn, who met her eyes.

"Yes, I think so," he replied to her.

Galadriel fixed us all with her presence, but she turned to address Thranduil.

"The time has come for us to raze the darkness of Dol Guldur to the ground," she said to him. "The hill of Amon Lanc will be cleansed at last."

-ooOOoo-


	21. Entry Twenty-One: Amon Lanc

**_A/N: A great song that goes with this chapter is a super old one, not well-known "Summer, Highland Falls" by Billy Joel. It kind of fits the fine juxtaposition of great happiness and misery and how they sometimes come together._**

-ooOOoo—

 _To Mr. B. Surrey_

 _Academiae Hall, Old Minas Tirith, Gondor_

 _Dear Cousin,_

 _Yes, you may see me and my family. Let us let bygones be bygones. Just promise not to start another war over a hill. You are welcome at my home, though I wouldn't let it be known abroad in the shire who exactly you are. There are some leftover sore spots that might not take kindly to your presence._

 _I am interested in what you found. What did you read? What did the elven text have to say? I suppose I wouldn't mind it if you told us the tale of the elven scribe._

 _Regards,_

 _T. Brown_

 _Wiltshire, The Green Wood, Rhovanion_

-ooOOoo-

ENTRY TWENTY-ONE:

The King of Dale and the dwarven King Dain left us shortly thereafter. Dol Guldur wasn't their fight anymore; they had to see to their kingdoms and make sure they remained free considering the war for Middle Earth into which we'd all been forced. Thranduil bade them leave but to send word if they needed the aid of his kingdom and his elves; he was now indebted to them for their friendship. It was a new place in which Thranduil found himself; the reliant waters of debt and debtors in friendship and favor. I wondered if he felt uncomfortable. He played it off well, as he was supposed to, being a king.

After the dwarves and the humans departed, it was only us, the elves of the woodland realms and the strange wizard Radagast. The animals milled about with little order; most had gone back to their normal occupations, but a few beasts remained, perhaps to act as sentinels for the rest, in case their strength became necessary. I had a feeling that it was only in that case, in the case of utter necessity, that we would ever see all the beasts of the forest fight for us again.

"Radagast," said Galadriel, and the wizard immediately heeded my grandmother. "Will you join us as we tear down the walls of Dol Guldur?"

"I-I suppose," said Radagast, not seeming very bold about it.

"Good," replied Galadriel, inexplicably pleased with Radagast's limp acceptance. She turned to address us all. "Let us move forward. We will not allow Sauron's forces to regroup before Amon Lanc is reclaimed."

I stole glances at Thranduil when I could. He seemed listless like he was years ago when we approached the Lonely Mountain, as if memories were pushing at him while he tried to move forward.

The path we took to Dol Guldur was direct, through the forest nearly as the crow flies. I could sense in my grandmother the desire to disallow Sauron or the Nazgul the chance to gather before we got there. Her determination was palpable, and I wondered what had caused her to have such a personal stake in reclaiming the mount.

There had been many things I'd wished to discuss with my grandmother over the recent years, and so when I found it, I immediately took the chance to walk beside her. I'd long sent my elk to wander the woods on its own, since it could be of little use to us in the narrow forest trail to Dol Guldur.

"Eren," said Galadriel, glancing at me as I joined her striding through the woods. "How are you?"

Her question seemed so simple as to be pithy, and it took me a moment to figure out how to respond.

"I'm… fine," I said.

She looked at me and smiled.

"And you?" I inquired.

"Fine," she replied, as if it were a joke. I felt foolish as a result. "Now, go on. What would you like to talk about?"

In relief I went on, since small talk was out of the way.

"I… think I have your gift," I said.

"I know," she replied.

"Of course you do," I said, as if that should have been obvious to me already, but it hadn't been. "But… I don't know how to use it."

"You're doing fine," she said simply. She seemed so sure of everything I wasn't at all sure about.

"But how do you navigate your relationship with Grandfather?" I asked. "How do you give him space to think? How do you stay out of his thoughts?"

Galadriel glanced briefly behind, to where Celeborn strode, unhearing and conversing with Radagast.

" _Do_ you stay out of his thoughts?" I asked, wondering.

She smiled at me again.

"Mostly," she replied, with good humor.

"How did you know how to manage it?" I asked.

"I didn't," she replied. "Not at first. It takes time to strike the right balance, and yet, it's never finished. Balance is something for which we must continually labor. That work is never done. There are moments of perfect balance, but they are only moments. Once that moment passes, the work begins again."

That had never occurred to me, for to me it appeared as if my grandparents had the most perfect relationship in existence. I took a moment to let that sink in, considering it as we passed under the dappled forest boughs of the midday forest. Already the forest seemed lighter, brighter, emptied of a darkness which once hung upon it.

"The woodland king is very volatile, isn't he?" inquired Galadriel, surprising me out of my reverie.

"Oh," I said in reply, awkward. "Yes."

She let silence reign.

"He is," I added pointlessly.

We walked a few more paces.

"Did you know?" I asked her.

"I've always known," she said. "But he has a very specific purpose, and his volatility plays a part in allowing him to fulfill it."

I sighed, considering.

"Have you decided yet what you will do about him?" she asked.

"I do not know," I said.

"Don't you?" she asked, turning her salient gaze upon me.

"Do I?" I asked, feeling a wash of confusion.

She studied me for a moment.

"You do," she said. "You simply haven't put it all together, yet."

"Then tell me!" I asked, dying for answers.

"I cannot," she said.

I suddenly wanted to cry.

"It's because you have to be the one to put it together, or you won't have the depth of understanding required," she said.

I felt like a mess. I didn't know how to put it together. I didn't know what pieces were supposed to be parts of the puzzle. I felt as if I didn't know anything.

After a while I looked back at my grandmother and saw empathy in her eyes.

"I would express regret that you face this trial, Eren, but I won't," she said.

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because it is worth the suffering," she said.

I turned my eyes to the path ahead and found myself blinking back tears.

"Just be assured that you have everything you need," I heard her voice say.

I tried to let that assure me, though it didn't very much. A moment later, Thranduil appeared on the other side of Galadriel.

"Lady Galadriel," he said by way of greeting.

I turned my gaze ahead so he wouldn't see my emotions.

"Thranduil," she replied cordially, being one of the few people in the world who could address him so casually due to her age and the fact that she'd watched him grow up.

"We should be arriving at the outskirts of Dol Guldur in the morning, that is if we plan to stop for the night," he said.

"What do you think we should do?" she asked him, almost like a charitable offering.

There was a quiet moment where all I could hear was our footsteps in the forest. I glanced over at Thranduil, and he caught my gaze. There was a gentleness that warmed his eyes when he looked at me, and I found I missed him. He shifted his glance to Galadriel.

"If we come upon them in the night, they will have less time to regroup," he said. "But if we come upon them in the morning, they are weaker in the light of the sun."

"Then I suppose the decision should come down to whether you believe they will be too strong for us in the night," said Galadriel.

"They will not," he said, "In either case."

"Does it then depend on which you would prefer to do?" asked Galadriel.

Thranduil let out a small sigh.

"Let's get this over with," he said.

"As you wish," said Galadriel, though I suspected she knew what he would choose all along, and the outcome was what she wanted.

He moved on, ahead of us, and I watched him go. I wondered if my grandmother made him nervous. I wondered if that was the same sort of unease I gave him.

Suddenly, I felt my grandmother push me in his direction and, after my initial surprise, I gave her a look and saw her smiling, amused. I could see all of this, this entire mess and ball of stress in which I was living, was terribly amusing to her. Maybe I was a little affronted.

" _Fine_ ," I whispered to her and hurried to catch up with his stride.

As he discovered me beside him, he looked surprised.

"Hello," I said lamely.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Walking here," I replied, aloof.

"I see," he admitted.

We experienced a silence, yet we continued to walk astride, both too stubborn to talk first, and too stubborn to part first, either. Eventually, he broke the silence.

"Which would you prefer to work on once we arrive at Dol Guldur," he asked, "assaulting Shelob's spawn or the main fort?"

I watched him for a moment, though he kept his eyes on the path ahead.

"Where do you think I would be of best use?" I asked.

"Nowhere," he replied immediately. "Hidden away, safe, elsewhere."

I laughed, though it was out of place to do so, mostly out of wryness.

"Indeed no," I replied. "How would I record what happens for the Greenwood's histories if I don't observe it for myself?"

He looked at me then, remembering, perhaps, my ultimate role in his court as his recorder and scribe. I was that before I fought in his army, I was that before I became his friend, or lover, or neither, or both. A lightening gratitude passed through his features.

"Perhaps you should be wherever you deem it most advantageous for your mission," he said, a gentleness in his voice.

"Perhaps I should be with you," I said.

He smiled, something of shyness shuttering his edges, and upon finding it endearing, I walked closer to his side. We walked together, basking in the glow of our agreement, and on occasion I would catch his sleeve in my fingertips for a pace or two as it was the only act bordering on affection that I could do while maintaining our required decorum.

Our march continued as the day was spent into dusk, then evening shadow. Thranduil caught my hand in the dark and held it close. I felt as if we were holding our breaths, waiting for this to end, waiting for Dol Guldur, waiting for its conclusion to answer our deepest questions. That it could solve our problems was a ridiculous idea; I don't know why we felt like we did. Then again, I never knew why we felt like we did, not from the beginning, so it wasn't anything new. His proximity was an immense comfort at the time, however.

"Your majesty," said a scout, arriving, breathless in the darkest part of night.

Thranduil released my hand.

"Yes?" he inquired.

"Dol Guldur is yonder, over that rise," said the scout, "and first within the hollow is the spawn of Shelob, wherein their nests flourish."

"We will burn the nests into ash," said Thranduil, and he turned at once to find Galadriel and Celeborn and his captains.

True to his word, by the next hour, the nests of Shelob's spawn lay ruined and smoldering, their foul smoke billowing into the sky in a half-ring round the hill of Dol Guldur, a prior sentry to our coming, a warning to those that still dwelt therein. It had been enough; the elves had tolerated the darkness in the woodlands long enough and their patience had been exhausted. In the dark of the pre-dawn hours, the armies of Lothlorien and the Greenwood assaulted, together, the miserable forces that remained at Dol Guldur, and left no stone unturned, no gully unlit, nothing foul unburned. The darkness of Dol Guldur was purified by fire; by the mundane torch kind of fire, and by the brilliant white fire of my grandmother's ring of power.

I watched her tear apart the standing stones and walls of Dol Guldur with more magic than I had ever seen wielded in my life; I saw a white-hot righteous fury in her eyes which I had never beheld. There was nothing that would stop her from cleansing and restoring Amon Lanc at last. No one's determination surpassed my grandmother's, not even Thranduil's.

At long last, as those few enemies which had not been burned to ash scrambled southward towards, fleeing towards what might be left of Mordor, the coming dawn brought a gloaming to the eastern sky and my grandmother and I walked upon some of the few paved stones left upon Amon Lanc and observed its newly cleansed state. The forest beyond the hill seemed enlivened, with the return of birdsong and the rustling of life. I found myself gazing west.

"Will you go?" my grandmother asked, surprising me out of thoughts I didn't realize I'd been having.

"To the Undying Lands?" I asked, glancing at her, then back towards the west.

It was still purple in that way, where the dawn's pre-sun light didn't reach, and upon that hill I could pretend to see the waves of the sea beyond the last stars that shone in the ending night. I listened, stretching my senses to see if I could feel it calling to me, ascending a few marble steps which still stood, a staircase to nothing, yet perhaps remnants from Oropher's reign.

"Your sister is staying," said Galadriel, still standing on the paving stones below. The rising eastern sun would strike me first, when it came.

"Yes, she is," I said, though Arwen's circumstances saddened me.

"I am not," said Galadriel.

I turned to gaze at her, a question asked in my mind but not spoken aloud.

"My power is diminished," she said, and I perceived the gentle melancholy which threaded through her tapestry. She was sorry to see her power go, but she knew it was time. She was sorry to leave Middle Earth but also knew her time here was over.

"Grandmother," I said, asking, "why did you care so much for the reclaiming of Amon Lanc? I should think your fury seemed as great if it had been Lorien itself fouled by Sauron's ilk, but it was only a hill once ruled over by a long-passed woodland king, and a Sindar one, at that."

The look she gave me was chiding, for I'd spoken of a Sindar as if he were lesser than us.

"I'm only trying to understand," I plead. "Thranduil himself couldn't match your wrath."

Her chiding look faded into an enigmatic smile.

"We _are_ woodland people, aren't we?" she asked in a rhetorical way.

"My father is not," I said.

"No," she said, "He isn't. Neither is your grandfather, though he abides it for my sake."

This was something I never knew.

"Oropher and I had much in common," said Galadriel. "His kingdom was very dear to me. Is dear to me, I suppose, though he no longer rules it."

I stared at my grandmother, wondering what history she shared with King Oropher of the Woodland Realm. Her expression was something which I had not seen before on her face; it seemed distant, remembering, sad and unsure. She looked up at me.

"You're staying, aren't you?" she said.

As she voiced it, I knew she was right. I was staying. I would never go across the sea. I hadn't fully realized it until that moment, but I would stay in Middle Earth, and I had known, somewhere deeply, that I would never leave long ago. The battle with Sauron was not and had never been mine, only a remnant, a purpose for those who lived in and came from another age. They may go but I would not. This was my home.

Her look dissolved into a smile.

"Your resolve gives me comfort," she said. "You will always watch over the Woodland Realm, won't you?"

"Yes," I said, knowing it. I _loved_ the Greenwood, and, unlike my sister, I would remain immortal. For me, there was no other acceptable choice to be made.

"Is it true?" I heard from nearby. I turned to see Thranduil standing just beyond the shadow of the stair. Translucent rays from the sun threatened to breach the horizon just behind him. "You will stay?"

I looked down on him, brilliant white, yet battle-wearied, darkened in spots, sullied by war, yet hopeful. He had not lost hope in things to come. He had, perhaps, gained more hope than ever these past few weeks through the joy of reunifying with his ancient, beloved woodland allies, and of clearing the darkness from his forest, perhaps forever. It brought me happiness to see him like this, but at the same time I knew at once that I would have to be cruel to him, now. _It was necessary._

"I will stay," I said, gazing down upon him.

He brightened and ascended a step or two towards me, yet something in my face caused him to halt. I saw caution and unsureness seep into his eyes, but I was sure.

"I will never go west," I said. "I will never go to the Undying Lands."

He watched me, waiting.

"Will you?" I inquired.

It might have seemed, taken out of context, like a simple question. It might have seemed like a small bit of polite elfin conversation, something important to one, sure, but not earth-shattering. He knew, however, what I was asking. He knew what I was demanding. He knew I was giving him an ultimatum. He was either _hers_ or he was _mine_. He was not _ours._ I would not share.

I saw a shuttering in his eyes, like the clicking in place of every implication I'd foisted upon him in the moment. His gaze, once hopeful, fell away from me and his body withdrew inward, he lost a step, his descent was small yet profound. He turned towards the west and gazed upon the stars, fading, eradicated one by one in the rising sun's light.

"She is my wife," he said, almost an exhalation of feeling, almost a begging for mercy.

I said nothing, cruel, and waited. _It was necessary._ I watched tears as they welled unbidden, though he was helpless against them, in his eyes, not falling, but there. They were a physical facsimile of the emotion which threatened to pour from his every seam. Yet, he held it back.

"She is the mother of my child," he said, his voice weak, half-whispered, and he turned his eyes to look at me, as if it were madness that I would ask such a thing of him. As he did, a shuddering in his eyes caused a tear to fall down his face, straight, down, down, crashing into the dust of Amon Lanc, of Oropher's Hill.

I did not relent. I would not relent. I had no mercy in that moment. I watched him, I gazed upon him and felt emotionless as the statues in the Gates of Argonath. It was because I knew, with finality, this was my path. Whether he would walk with me or not would be his choice to make. Was it cruel that I made him choose? Perhaps in the moment, but his wounding, this sword which I thrust through his heart, was inevitable. He had pounded mine with a hammer. He had crushed my heart beyond feeling, almost to my death. We had stretched each other near to breaking. Perhaps it was all part of who and what we were to each other that I would watch him bleed upon the marble steps of his father and could feel nothing for his pain.

 _Because it was necessary._

He fell to one knee upon a step and wept, helpless, disarmed, broken, weeping, mourning for his wife, long lost to the fading and the Undying Lands, for memories lost and changed by centuries and millennia, for the circumstances which crushed him between this world and the next.

I lifted my eyes from Thranduil to see my grandmother still standing a little way off, upon the same stone as before, and watching us with her gaze. As our eyes met, she gave me one of her enigmatic smiles and I knew I'd found my answer, and perhaps her answer, and perhaps a conclusion to many things left unfinished. I perceived that she would now feel completely at ease leaving the Woodland Realm and Middle Earth under my care.

I turned to see the sun finally crest the horizon in a tiny, brilliant sliver of light, spilling out across the Woodland Realm and the heights of Amon Lanc, piercing the still-rising plumes of blackened smoke from the cleansing fire and making ashes dance like fireflies. I watched flakes of ash float on the breeze, slow, almost suspended, as if time waited, paused, delaying forward momentum until the next phase began. Letting my gaze fall upon Thranduil's crumpled form, I knew it was enough. I allowed empathy to resurge in me, and I descended to his stair and threw my arms around his shoulders, as if I were a blanket, a cloak, a protection.

I brushed his hair behind his ear, gently.

"What will you do?" I whispered, inquired, gentle, tender.

He was nearly beside himself with grief, but he replied through it, as if through a broken haze.

"What else can I do?" he asked as he wept.

I knew he was mine. He, perhaps, was always mine, from the moment we met. I held him and reassured him through tender treatment that everything would be fine.

"I love you," I whispered into his ear.

Though unable to reply, he clenched my hand with a passionate mourning and a euphoric sadness which juxtaposition played across us both like rays of sun would cut and twist through boughs of treetops to the forest floor. We were an inevitability which could only be accepted, everything else be damned.

-ooOOoo-

 ** _A/N: One epilogue-like chapter left and this fic will be finished!_**


	22. Epilogue

_**A/N - Wow, it's done! Thank you for reading! It has been a pleasure to further explore the world of Tolkien through writing this fic. I will miss these characters.**_

-ooOOoo—

 _Dear Cousin,_

 _You won't believe what I have to say, but here it is anyway:_

 _You know me to be a bit of an anthropologist, not just an archaeologist, and, after leaving your farm in Wiltshire, I spent several months as planned studying the various cultures which surround and dwell just inside the boundaries of the Green Wood. That said, it's common knowledge that the interior of the Green Wood is far too mountainous and wild for agriculture and remains mostly untouched and unfelled. All roads tend to end abruptly within it, anyway._

 _In my interviews with many of these villages and towns there was a common thread which ran through them; word of a pair of old folks, a man and a woman, likely a hundred years old by now, many would say, who sometimes would trade rare goods, sometimes simply showed up to help when needed, and were known for their kindness and wisdom. They were known to live in the woods, though no one knew exactly where, and they were, by some, considered something like stewards of the Green Wood, though not in any serious way._

 _It took me several more months to find them in an outlying farm. They were as described; stooped, ancient, perhaps a hundred years, yet I could sense a deep strength beneath their age. The farmer who needed them had failed in growing his crop of potatoes, and he didn't know what he'd done wrong. When I came upon them, the old man had a shovel in his hand and was showing the farmer how to properly work the ground. At this point, I wasn't sure at all if this was who I sought, but I introduced myself._

 _"Ah," said the farmer. "An anthropologist? Are you here to learn about potatoes?"_

 _"No," I replied, but then amended: "Maybe."_

 _The old man smiled at me. He seemed to know things about me with a look, yet he was kindly._

 _"Well you came at the right time," said the farmer, "Old Thindle showed up just when I needed him."_

 _Thindle laughed._

 _"I just happened to be here," he said, modest._

 _"Yer a legend, you know," said the farmer._

 _"That's a silly idea," replied Thindle, turning to continue instructing the farmer about the earth._

 _I stayed with them for an hour or two, and the old man worked tirelessly. I think, somehow, I learned a lot about farming. I'd never deign try to tell you a thing, for I'm certain what little I learned is surpassed by your vast knowledge, but I daresay it was enlightening. More than just instruction, though, the old man brightened the place where he was, and I imagine that is probably true wherever he might be. It was a very enjoyable time._

 _As daylight waned into dusk, the three of us retired to the farmer's home, a stone cottage off the path, at the end of his fields. Within, we found his wife and three children busy setting a table with a white-haired woman of remarkable age._

 _Introductions were made, and the old woman's name was "Wren". I could not shake the feeling that struck me when she looked at me first. It was only a moment, and for every moment afterwards she was kind and grandmotherly to me, but for just that single instant I felt known, though and through, deeper and more searching than the old man's look by a longshot. I felt as if I were in the presence of something else, something from another time. Something_ magical _. But we all know "magic" faded from Middle Earth in the last age, don't we?_

 _Lest my accounting sound as if I were disturbed by the farmer's visitors let me make it clear I never was once. They were a blessing on the house; it was clear from the pleasure of the family which hosted them, and it was clear from the pleasure their kindness brought me. Even the cat seemed to find pleasure from their presence, stirring across the legs of them both more than once with great, satisfied purrs in his feline chest._

 _At long last the evening waned, and it was time for the elders to leave. They bid the farmer and his wife farewell with promises to check on them and their potatoes in time. After that, they very unceremoniously bundled up in their worn cloaks and, taking up their walking sticks from the cottage wall, headed off into the night, their path looking to strike straight into the heart of the Green Wood._

 _I had to know who they were. I had to know if my insane suspicions could be true. I questioned my own sanity by following them into the woods. They seemed to need neither torch nor lantern in the dark of the woods, but my sight began to fail me once we'd deepened into the thick and I panicked._

 _"Sir and Madam," I called after them at once, and they turned. "Please, bade me accompany you."_

 _I'd hoped my panic at being left in dark, unfamiliar woods wasn't noticeable in my voice._

 _"What call you us, with such fine names?" asked Wren, and I heard amusement in her old voice._

 _"I call you Sir and Madam, for the kindness and light which you've brought to a family in need tonight deems you worthy of such," I said, "If not more. Lord and Lady, perhaps instead."_

 _"Do you hear the lad?" said Wren to Thindle, "Methinks he hails from Gondor, with such a silvertongue."_

 _"Only a Gondorian would be so foolish to enter the Greenwood without a torch to light his way," laughed Thindle._

 _"But how do you see?" I asked, "My eyes are doubtless twice as young as yours."_

 _There was only an instant of pause._

 _"We know the way," said Thindle, "by heart."_

 _"I would wager your eyes are at least thrice younger," said Wren. She seemed amused, still. "But youth don't always see clearly as need be."_

 _"Sometimes we do," I said, feeling bolder, perhaps surer of my convictions._

 _"Well," said Thindle, "then I'm sure you can see yourself back to the road."_

 _He was still kind, perhaps even playing with me, but if what I thought was true, I had to suss it out. I had to try, even if I ended up looking crazy. It was worth the risk. As they turned again towards the forest and began to shuffle away, I stepped towards them, feeling nervous and short-of-breath._

 _"Please don't go," I begged, and they stopped. I could see enough to see them glance at each other. Something passed in that glance, though I know not what, and they turned to me._

 _"What is it, young Gondorian?" asked Thindle._

 _Gathering my courage, I went on, hoping against hope that I was right._

 _I knelt before them._

 _"I wish to pay my respects to Thranduil, King of the Greenwood, and Lady Eren of Rivendell, his scribe," I said, looking down at the path between us, trying not to cringe at how ridiculous what I had just said must have sounded if I were wrong._

 _I breathed in long seconds wherein they didn't speak, and I didn't move. After a moment, I heard a laugh, crystalline, beautiful._

 _"I beg your pardon," said Wren, and I looked up to see her smiling at me. "My name is Eren, Queen of the Greenwood. I gave up scribing long ago."_

 _"No, you didn't," said Thindle._

 _"Of course I did," she replied._

 _"I don't believe you are capable of such a thing, my dear," he said._

 _"Well, perhaps just once in a while," she acquiesced, aloof._

 _I couldn't take my eyes from them, for, though they were old humans, at some point they simply **weren't,** they were the most glorious beings I had ever laid eyes upon, he silver and gold with fair blue eyes, and her ivory and verdant, framed with raven black. They were tall, ageless, and their faces were fair beyond anything I'd ever beheld, yet I could not for the life of me figure out when or how the change had taken place, nor if it had, or if I merely could finally see something that had always been there. I was dumbstruck, and they continued to banter as if this was all… normal. I suppose it was, for them. _

_"It…," I began, my breath failing me, "it **is**_ _you."_

 _They ceased teasing each other and turned their attentions upon me. I felt strange and unworthy but their faces were kind, if curious._

 _"I believed us to be lost to human history," said Thranduil. "How did you know to look for us?"_

 _"I didn't," I said. "My cousin found a record southward, aloft his farm. He dug it up and saw it was in elfin-,"_

 _"Elvish," corrected Eren._

 _"Elvish," I said, "and he knew I read old Elvish, and he sent it to me."_

 _"What record is that?" asked Thranduil._

 _"It's the journal of Lady Eren," I replied. "Of her time scribing for you, the Elvenking."_

 _"Oh my," said Eren, and she looked vaguely uncomfortable. "Let's… not let that get out, shall we?"_

 _Thranduil laughed._

 _"I want to read it," he said._

 _Eren covered her eyes with a hand._

 _"Really, of all the records to get discovered," began Eren._

 _"I feel like I know both of you," I said, and then added: "Strangely well."_

 _Thranduil just laughed more._

 _"Could I have it back?" asked Eren._

 _"But," I said, "it's… the most interesting thing we have to remember the elves by! Everything else is tired old records of dry courts and accountings and dull histories. In your record, we can know how you thought, that you loved and cared and suffered and struggled… and what an account of two wars! It really is astounding… and invaluable."_

 _"Why did you never let me read this?" Thranduil asked Eren._

 _"Because," she said, "it was my **personal** journal." _

_I sighed._

 _Eren observed me, perhaps having pity on my scholarly mind._

 _"Shall we parley?" she inquired._

 _My dear cousin, they took me to a cottage within the Greenwood. I don't know if this was their home, for I'd hoped to see the caves, but this, I suppose was chosen for convenience. It was a lovely place, regardless. Once within, and merry firelight and lamps were blazing, they offered me a seat and refreshment at their table._

 _"I do not feel that I should be treated with such honor in your house, Your Majesty," I said, though I sat with hesitation._

 _"Do not worry, you will cede to our demands soon enough," said Thranduil merrily._

 _"You don't even know what demands we are going to make," Eren chided him, then she turned to me. "Do you have the record with you?"_

 _"I have my translation," I said, pulling it from my satchel._

 _"Let me see it, please," she asked, and I offered it to her. "Thranduil, my quill."_

 _He swiftly set it beside her with a pot of ink._

 _During the next hour, I sat as she leafed through the manuscript, skimming the pages, quill in hand and making marks. Occasionally she would make a noise, sometimes of surprise, sometimes it was more like a groan. Thranduil leaned over her and read, his interest palpable._

 _"I had no idea that's how you felt about me," he said, teasing._

 _"Silence," she replied, turning the page, "Of course you did."_

 _I, alone, was merely astounded at my lot, and at the knowledge that they were exactly as her journal had recorded them. It was strange and otherworldly, yet, here they were, bickering over my manuscript._

 _At the last page or two, they grew somber, and I could only assume the memory of Thranduil being wrenched from his first bonding was still, even after thousands of years, a painful memory for them both. I could only find them fascinating._

 _Eren drew a breath at last and looked up at me. She smiled, though there was a thread of sadness in it._

 _"I've made some marks," she said. "I would be happy for you to use most of the manuscript for your purpose, but I have asked some of the more… private… parts to be removed."_

 _"I will do as you wish, my lady," I found myself saying._

 _"Thank you," she said._

 _"That said, no one knows us… not as us," said Thranduil, playing advocate. "It might as well be written about anyone. You could leave it all in and it wouldn't make a difference, really."_

 _"Take them out, please," said Eren patiently, ignoring Thranduil._

 _"But I like those parts," objected Thranduil._

 _"You got to read them already," said Eren, waving him away._

 _"About that," I said, curious, "is that what you do? Masquerade as an old couple and wander the world?"_

 _"Well, I wouldn't put it like that," said Thranduil. "We disguise ourselves because, a long time ago, we realized our true forms can be distracting."_

 _"I would agree," I said, perhaps with a huffed laugh._

 _"And the world has changed," said Eren. "Elves are…"_

 _She trailed off._

 _"Gone?" I offered._

 _"Not entirely," said Thranduil, smiling._

 _"I suppose not," I agreed._

 _"We manage the Greenwood," said Thranduil, "and all of the lands around it. We are aware of everything in the Woodland Realm, and we always have been."_

 _"How does no one know?" I asked._

 _"Humans are short-lived and short-memoried," said Eren, and then she smiled. "They know us. They just don't know they know us."_

 _"That said," began Thranduil. "You do know that anyone you tell about us is going to think you're stark raving mad, don't you?"_

 _I blinked at him._

 _"Since you have a book of great worth you wish to publish, it would be in your best interest to keep our identities a secret, don't you think?" asked Eren._

 _"Especially since we will never be found unless we wish to be found," added Thranduil._

 _"You certainly want to remain a credible source for elven literature, I'm sure," smiled Eren._

 _"It would be a waste to throw away such a fine, burgeoning career in anthropology," said Thranduil._

 _I felt vaguely threatened and as if I were being crushed in a vice far beyond my own capability to escape._

 _"No one will know," I relented, and perhaps I had also slid down in my chair a little._

 _"Very good," said Thranduil, kindly once again._

 _"Except my cousin," I said._

 _"If he will believe you," said Eren with a smile._

 _"He might," I said._

 _You might believe me, cousin, if for no other reason than it would be both strange and perhaps impossible for me to concoct a story of such detail and such fantastic proportions for no other reason than to tell you, and you alone. That said, do not look for them, for they won't be found unless they want you to find them. Perhaps, however, you will be fortunate enough to meet an old man and woman bent in the service of those around them, whose lives are devoted to giving, and whose purpose is preserving the land and the people of the Green Wood which they love. If you do meet them, if you do have that luck, take them into your home for as long as they will stay. I promise you it will be worth it._

-oo—OO—OO—oo—

-o-THE—END-o-

-oo—OO—OO—oo-


End file.
